


Catch of Breath

by StuckWithMyself



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Tries, Crime Scenes, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Free Androids, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Anderson and Connor Live Together, Have mercy on my soul, Hurt/Comfort, I have this stuck in my head for weeks, I will try to frequently update, Investigations, Police, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Reader Has A Name, Reader-Insert, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Slow Burn, Whump, maybe smut, we will see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:13:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 88,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckWithMyself/pseuds/StuckWithMyself
Summary: You come back  to the DPD after recovering from an accident. Your case is gone and there is currently no work for you.Luckily, the Lieutenant is sick, so you can work with his young partner Connor.While you are still warming up to the free-living androids around you, Connor decides to start an experiment on you.





	1. Saying Hi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ADangerousGame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADangerousGame/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start reading I wanted to share something with you. 
> 
> Write more comments.
> 
> I saw lots of splendid and sometimes also famous stories, that have tons of Hits, but in relation to that, way less Kudos/Comments.
> 
> I know you often get carried away from reading or just forget. But consider the fact that you can enjoy reading because someone made the effort to write it for you. 
> 
> So next time you read a good chapter, why don't you bless the author with a small notice that you liked it. Or give some advice to improve.
> 
> You'd appreciate some response as well ;)

February 2nd, 2039  
08:03am

“Good morning, Miss." The lady who authorized you was a middle-aged woman with a sweet mature smile on her lips. Her eyes were a bit tired and wrinkles framed her face.

“Good morning.“ You shortly replied a smile. Rifling through your bag, you searched for your ID-card. Brushing away some strands of hair, you handed her the card. While she registered your identity you poked around the reception.

In the early morning it was almost empty here. Nevertheless, there were 5 employee working at the reception, right now.

On the left side, there was a regular android. A brunette, like you were used to it.

To its right two male secretary. Quite young.

Then there was the lady who registered you and another woman, slightly younger than the one attending to you.

Funny, you were sure all of them were the same android the last time you came here. Now it was a colorful mix of everyone.

How fast things can change if you let them.

“So alright, you can go in. Have a nice day,“ the lady said.

“Thank you!“ you nodded back accepting your card and took the few steps to the entrance of your workplace.

It's been a while since you have been here.

The open glass ceiling was the same, just like the modern interior style, but the energy in the room was somewhat different. Maybe a bit more relaxed.

The first thing you noticed, was that there were more desks than you remembered. Also, those police-androids which stood at the wall, like some gruesome mannequins, were gone. Additionally, they changed the general interior a bit.

Entering the hall, you looked out for your old desk. You knew you sat across from Lieutenant Anderson's. Next to the window.

Standing in front of your former workplace, you realized that the nameplate was empty. Seems like your desk was in a different place than it has been once. A frown flashed over your face.

"Okay. That's alright," you mumbled to yourself.

You never talked much with the Lieutenant anyway.

Turning on your heels, you continued your search exhaling a small sigh. You weren't exactly excited to examine all those remaining tables.

Now that the thought entered your head, you realized that you never talked to him at all. He scared you a bit. Always getting angry and cursing the computer.

Not exactly the kind of the first impression that motivates you to become friends.

But you knew, he was still a nice person. At least you thought so. The only interaction you actually had so far was the one time he bumped into you and spilled coffee over your shirt. He was genuinely sorry and tried to help you. So maybe he's just a bit rough around the edges and you judged too quickly.

After some searching, you found your desk next to Miller's, who just did some paperwork. And that with a sincere smile on his face.

You thought that he must be the only cop ever, who actually enjoyed doing it. He always seemed so confident in the process.

Chris took a sip from his mug and looked up. His eyes wandered around the hall acknowledging all the different figures rushing from place to place, realizing a well-known face standing in front of him, placing her bag on a desk.

You noticed that he recognized you, but he probably hasn't realized that he was staring at you with a really goofy face. You could clearly see the 'Loading-Icon' above his head.

After a moment of disbelief, he called out for you.

“Detective Rockland! Dear! You're back!“ Raising from his chair he gave you a hug.

You received it gratefully, adding a small laugh. Chris hugs can brighten up your whole day. You have no idea how he was actually doing it, but it was true.

Chris was like the first person you could connect with. Maybe it was the similar age. But mostly it was his kind nature. In contrast to Gavin, he was much more tranquil. In the best way possible. You could just talk to him without any complications.

He patted your shoulders and smiled. “How are you feeling? Everything's back okay?“ he asked, giving you a small visual check his eyes rushed from your head to your toes and back.

“Yeah, I am back in one piece,“ you laughed.

That was the welcome you hoped for. In fact, you were a bit frightened that no one even noticed that you were gone for so long. It were almost 6 month. Just thinking about the painful nights you spended in the hospital made a shiver run down your spine. Pictures popped up in your head, which you would prefer locked away somewhere safe.

“I'm glad! You should tell Captain Fowler that you're back. He will tell you everything you missed.“ He waited for a reaction but your eyes stared into nothing. Tightening his grip on your shoulders a bit, he tilted his head and searched for your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a soft worried smile.

“What? Yes! I am sorry. It's just that I am totally not used to wake up that early anymore,” you were trying to cover up your flashbacks with a laugh. He released his grip and sat down at his table.

“Hah, okay,” he gave you a quick smirk, “Maybe you should get some coffee, but keep it down for today. Don't overdo it, yes?” And so, he continued his work.

“I won't! Don't worry.” Your lips curled up to a gentle smile and walked off.

Standing right in front of the Captain's office, you saw that Fowler was obviously busy talking to some man in a suit, so you drifted off to the kitchen. Let's get some coffee!

Grabbing a mug you poured the hot brew into it. It's smell reassured your heart. The coffee at the DPD was the best. Some sugar and a drop of milk. Now you could take a small rest.

Although, you previously only tried to take Chris' mind away from your quick blackout, you didn't lie. You were still tired. After being at home for the last few weeks you weren't used to getting up in the early morning.

After you sat down at the table, you rubbed your hands against your temples.

Being tired was exhausting.

Trying to kill the pain with a big sip of surprisingly disappointing coffee you took a closer look at the person standing in Fowler's office.

This person apparently had no intention to sit down. No, he stood there arms crossed behind his straight back. You only saw his back, anyway. Nevertheless, you recognized that he was wearing a classy suit. Black, maybe dark gray. Odd, normally none of the people here is wearing a real suit... Like, was that some businessman? Maybe a lawyer. That would make more sense.

Did the Lieutenant attacked some Agents again?

You were not present personally, but news like that spread. Chris texted it to you right away.

Taking a spoon, you stirred your coffee, watching the white merge with the dark brown. Everytime the metal spoon hit the ceramic mug it made a bright noise.

It was nice to see Chris again, but with all those changes ...It made you kinda sad that this whole newbie feeling returned. A year ago you joined the DPD and after you settled in, you were ripped out again.

On the television there was a talk-show. People talking about the bees and the U.F.O. Not that interesting at all.

You turned it off.

It just made your headache worse.

You let your eyes wander over the Department once more, with a dull expression on your face. Your hand pressed against your cheek. The other hand kept stirring the mug.

Seeing another familiar face rushing by, your eyes grew large.

That's an image you knew! At first, he ran past you but then after a moment, he took some steps backward. His face slowly turning into your direction. His eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Heey! Detective Rockland, you're back!“ Gavin smirked and came into the kitchen. With a wicked smile like always, he sat down at the table.

The corner of your mouth twitched up and you took a sip of the terrible coffee. You twisted your face, your smile fading promptly.

It was watery, it was tasteless and it was too strong at the same time. Like someone brewed it, let it rest for two hours just to put a shot of mud in it. The only thing you could really call coffee was the milk in it.

That's it!

Fighting the urge to spit it out, you shoved the mug as far away from you as possible.

It had betrayed you.

Leaning against the table he watched you breaking up with your drink. “Yeah, I know it's terrible, right?" Gavin commented with a weak laugh, "It is because the Department had some recent updates. Technically, we're low on budget. So they had to do some... cutbacks.” He scratched his head and gestured to the full, abandoned mug you almost shove over the edge of the table.

He kept looking at the mug for a moment like he still could not believe his loss. Then he sat down. Hitting the table like a drum.

“So! Back in business?” he said with a spark of excitement in his eyes. After all, you were partners. Probably he had to work alone while you were gone.

“Yeah! I thought it was time for me to come back! You know, look if the place's still nice and neat. How have you been doing?“ you responded euphorically.

You and the Detective often worked together, especially when you were quite new. He was a bit spiteful from time to time. Sometimes he reminded you of one of the kids you had to deal with in primary school, those who felt the need to attack people verbally at all costs.

But in the end, he was a good Detective and a decent human. Still, he needed to be put in his place. You two grew close over the time. Actually, you would say, you were friends.

Gavin and you kept chatting for a couple of minutes before you saw that the Captain was alone now, and with that, you rushed over.

You opened up the door to the office and cleared your throat.

“Ehm, Captain? It's me, Amelia.“


	2. Losing your cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed most of the bad mistakes. Should be better now ;)

February 2nd, 2039  
08:32am

The Captain's office was much cleaner than you would have expected...

Apparently, he hadn't noticed your presence yet, so you used that opportunity to inspect it for a short moment.

The right wall was covered with an artificial display showing charts, reports, and updates. No regular human being could seriously claim to be able to process all these information... You stared at it a couple of seconds when your eyes started to burn due to the flickering lights, you drew your attention to his desk. Fowler focused on his computer, typing something. The computer-display was exactly like the big one at the wall, you were able to see right through it from the other side.

Now, that you thought about it, you acknowledged that his whole office was designed for transparency... Maybe to avoid enlarging the distance between the employees and their superiors.

You realized that you casually leaned against the transparent door frame and quickly corrected your posture. You focused on your boss, who was still preoccupied. This deep frown formed in his face always made him appear so hostile.

You can do that, Amelia. He is nice, you know that. Just... talk! You took a deep breath.

"Ehm, Captain? It's me, Amelia."

"What?" he raised his head frowning in your direction. His strong voice always scared you. It felt like there was something wrong.

You didn't do anything wrong..., right?

"It's Detective Rockland! Ehm, yeah! I'm back from my break! What's up? Something new?" A wide, forced grin streched over your face.

Hiding your insecurity, you tried to act cool, but your voice trembled and you ended up sounding like a lame dad trying to win the cool kids with some hip phrases.

Newbie feeling strikes again.

That was totally not your style of conversation. The Captain wasn't your style of conversation.

He just made a really confused face, which gave you a clear hint to never talk like this ever again. You shove your hands into your pockets and focused on the wall behind Captain Fowler and waited patiently.

A myriad of decorations and distinctions adorned it. A photography drew your attention. It was a picture of a man in an uniform. Maybe taken at a ceremonial event. Was that Fowler?

The mood lightened up when the Captain raised his voice.

"Ah! Yeah! So 'ya back to work from now on?! Let me have a look at 'ya file, Detective!" his loud voice banged through the room.

You stood there awkwardly in this glass cage in front of your boss, waiting for him to crawl through his folders.

You truly hoped he didn't mean to imply that, he forgot about her working here already.

This one picture... could it really be the Captain? Who would put up a picture of himself next to all his decorations? On the other side, you knew literally nothing about this man. Perhaps, he was a proud man. Or narcissistic. It could be his son, though. Did he have a son?

"Ah. There we have it! Detective Amelia Rockland. Exempted from work 'til February 2th 2039"

At least he kept your file.

He was scanning through the pages analyzing your work before you had your... occurrence. But there was a possibility that he also tried to get to know you.

Again.

You could hardly blame him for having problems remembering your face. After all, you've been gone for several months. While waiting, your eyes wandered over his desk.

Avoiding to monitor his actions, you inspected the items of office equipment on it. Some papers, some pens, his flickering display, his phone, and a ceramic hand constructed to hold his pens. That was quite the cool design. After a short minute, he coughed, turning your attention back to him.

"Yeah, kid! Since your last case is a bit, eh," he searched for the right word, "It's been a fuckin' long time! That case's cleared. So at the moment, I don't have actual work for 'ya, Detective!" he almost slammed himself back into his chair, crossing his arms."What would you suggest? How are you feeling?"

The best would be to do some desk-jobs and stay low for the next days... but actually, you were back in perfect health. There was no need to nurse you.

„If you don't have any work for me left I could just help the others. That way I didn't come here for nothing," you suggested. Fowler looked through his glass wall, watching the employee running through the Department. You followed his gaze. All this tumult reminded you of the bees. Those you saw on TV earlier.

"Hm. Yeah. Okay," he mumbled to himself turning back to you.

"Lieutenant Anderson is still sick for the next days. You can go and help his partner."

Your eyes followed the gesture of Captain Fowler. He pointed at a young man sitting at your old workplace.

So that's the reason your place was moved to Chris'.

Eyeing him for a moment you came to the conclusion, that he must be new. You never saw that person at the DPD before. But still, he looked familiar. Have you seen him before? Maybe he lived in the area. Maybe you saw him by chance once.

"That's Connor. He is fresh meat but will work effectively, so don't start pissing me off as Hank did. Just go over! He can tell you what he is up to. Dismissed," with that, he waved you out.

With a small nod, you left. Letting out a relieved sigh you closed the door behind you.

Standing in front of the stairs, you watched your new temporarily partner having a phone call. Slowly drawing nearer you took a closer look at him.

Let's see who will be your new colleague.

Indeed, you had to admit, he was quite pretty. Brown hair, dark eyes, a small smile, and a nice body shape. His movements were so concrete... In his right hand, he held a phone.

Wearing a shirt and a black tie was making him a bit unusual. Most employees never wore such neat clothes.

You always felt overdressed when you first came here. Now your style is a bit more casual, but maybe you should go back to 'shirt with skirt' one day.

As you approached 'Connor' you overheard his phone call.

"And you are sure that it's okay for me to stay at work? I could come home, take care of you, make something for you to eat-," his worried offer was cut off.

Oh, he seems to be talking to his wife? A girlfriend? A family member? How caring. Almost made you jealous. After your incident you had no one who took care of you.

"I simply want to make sure you get well soon. And I advise keeping away from the television, it will probably increase your headache. The- the best would be to drink-," again he was interrupted by the person on the other side.

His eyes blinked several times like he was trying to process something. Now that you stood right in front of the desk, you heard a muffled voice from the phone.

"No. - Yes.- Okay, but -"

Then there was a long pause.

"Yes but please don't start drink- …"

He looked at the receiver like he was judging the person on the other side, who apparently just ended the conversation. The man put down the phone and realized your presence,gputting on a small smile.

"May I help you, Miss?" he asked soberly, but also friendly.

You shove your hands into your pockets and slightly avoided eye-contact. He was almost too pretty. You felt awkward, but you just could not look into his eyes.

"Yes! I am Amelia Rockland. Detective. Fowler said, that I should help you out. Since I was off for a long time, he thought it might be helpful for me to play easy at first and just … you know, tag along," you felt stupid explaining this. You simply hoped he wasn't bothered by your abrupt participation.

He nodded, kepping up the a bitembarrassing eye contact. "I see! Sure! Since Lieutenant Anderson is still absent, you can help me with my investigations, Detective," he smiled again and turned around to take out a file.

"Amelia is just fine." You smiled.

"Okay, Amelia. I am Connor." He stood up and reached his hand out to you.

You took his hand and he handed you the file. "Take your time to form an overall perspective of the current situation. Meanwhile, I will get the car and wait at the parking lot." He gave you a small polite nod and took his suit coat from the chair, throwing it over his shoulder. With that, he turned on his heels and headed to the exit.

Sheepishly you smiled at the folder, looking forward to working with Connor. Your first case since forever. The excitement was written in your eyes.

Perceptibly Connor was responsible for cases concerning violent conflicts and it's consequences in the increasing substance abuse.

Looks like the drug business runs smoothly.

There already been several victims found in the streets all over the city. Not just this popular 'Red Ice'-stuff, also tons of other drugs. Even Meth ... You thought that already died long ago. The Lieutenant was experienced in drug issues, personal and professional. And Fowler said Connor was new.

Wait, Hank? You turned around to look after Connor who was already gone. Was he talking to the Lieutenant on the phone earlier?

Your smile faded and your brows narrowed. That really confused your little brain. As far as you know, he had no near family or friends. Were they a … couple? Or like really close friends?

While this face slowly eased, you dropped the file back at the desk and went to the exit as well.

As you reached the parking lot, you already saw Connor sitting inside of an old-fashioned car.

Oh dear... Hurray, a car. Subconsciously, you rolled your shoulders.

You walked around, opened the door and sat down. Connor was watching your movements. After you fastened your seat-belt, you noticed that he spun a coin between the fingers of his right hand.

How...how did he do that?

“Are you ready to head to the crime-scene, Detective?” He tilted his head, sliding the coin back into his pocket.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. Your eyes were still fixed on the coin, which already vanished in his suit coat.

“Miss?” he lowered his head searching eye-contact. A pinch of worry in his voice.

You raised your eyes looking directly into his dark ones. “Can you show me how you did this?”

He chuckled, starting the engine. Then he drove off the parking lot and on the street.

“Sure, if you want to. I can try to show you as soon as we have time.” He gave you a small glance before focusing back on the street.

“But first, let's solve a murder,” he said casually.

Like suggesting to go grocery-shopping.

Your blood froze. A murder? You- you can't remember the last time you saw a dead....The last time you saw a dead body, ...that was long ago. First the car and now a murder.

You shove your hands between your thighs, hiding your shaking hands. Leaning against the window.

You can do this, Amelia. You are a grown-up. You can handle that.

After like 5minutes you couldn't take the silence anymore. You were far too nervous for that.

“Care if I turn on the radio?” you asked, reaching for the old-fashioned radio, looking at the buttons to figure how it worked.

“Do as you please!But-”

As soon as you pushed the first button a painfully deafening scream escaped the stereo followed by loud and angry heavy metal. You cringed and turned down the volume as fast as you could.

“I apologize. That was probably a bit too loud,” he stated in a calm tone. Reaching for the regulation, he changed the broadcaster to a regular one. Without aggressive howls.

Wide eyed you stared at him. What did just happen? That... That completely caught you off-guard. That was like a deafening jump-scare! Looks like he barely bothered the extreme change of volume...

“Yes, yes... It's alright,” you stammered. Your eyes fixed on the street while your nails scratched your wrist.

That's gonna be fun.


	3. Human

February 2nd, 2039  
08:43am

Once more, Connor waited patiently for the Lieutenant to finish his choking cough.

“Ugh, I need a drink....,” he hissed into the receiver. Shortly after there were steps audible and the refrigerator's door clicked.

Since Hank was sick he became truly … difficult to handle. He was turning down any help but kept complaining.

No, not simply complaining.

He was whining, taking advantage of his situation to spell out every single curse he could ever think of. Connor often had to surrender, there was no use in arguing with this old snarky man. He had his own ways of dealing with him.

“Yes but please don't start drink-” Connor tried to interfere, but was cut off immediately by Hank yelling.

“For God's sake Connor! Leave me alone! I have the flu! I'm not gonna fucking die! Now just do your fucking work!”

And with that, he ended the phone call.

Only at his worse, he was genuinely appreciating Connors help. That was the case last week. Hank was tired and had a runny nose. Always needing one or two seconds to react.

He blamed the weather.

Connor trusted Hank with him telling when he needs some rest. But Hank said he was fine.

He was frightened when he witnessed the Lieutenant collapse in front of the house. Shaking hands, heavy movements and sweat on his forehead were indications for his state, but Connor did not expect Hank to break down right in front of their doorstep.

Just like that.

He carried him inside checking on him, putting him to bed and preparing some water and medicine. It was a long night. And if Connor would be able to feel exhausted, he would have been. After Hank finally went to sleep he was mumbling a feeble 'thank you, son' before drifting off to sleep.

That night Connor and Sumo were watching TV until dawn.

Now he was listening to 3 short beeps.

He was sincerely offended that Hank was so angry with him. His only intention was to make sure he was alright. For a moment he was looking at his phone watching the red icon blink.

However, the thought of Hanks expression realizing that he locked away all the alcoholic beverages gave him a small boost of confidence.

It was for his own benefit. Hank's excessive consumption improved, but he was still a heavy drinker.

A tender silhouette appeared at his desk. Putting down the phone he raised his eyes to regard the person in front of him.

 

Detective Amelia Mary Rockwell

25years old

no criminal record

 

Connor has never seen Miss Rockwell at the DPD before. Perhaps she was new. At least, her insecure posture was a giveaway. She was nervously scanning the area for a distraction. It was not hard to see she felt uncomfortable.

He'd really liked to analyze her profile furthermore, but recently Hank said its rude to scan peoples private information. Now he was limited to get just the basic profile. He said it was more interesting to get to know people in person anyway.

“May I help you, Miss?” he greeted the young Detective with a reassuring smile.

The Miss shyly put her hands into her pockets, raising up her shoulders, making herself smaller. Uncertainty covered her face, her eyes slowly coming to rest, but still avoiding to meet his. Did he do something wrong?

Connor waited calmly for the young detective to collect her thoughts.

“Yes! I am Amelia Rockland. Detective! Fowler said that I should help you out. Since I was off for a long time, he thought it might be helpful for me to play it easily at first and just... you know, tag along,” she mumbled still with a lack of confidence in her voice.

So she was an experienced detective.

Oddly, she conveyed the impression, that this was her first day at work.

Though, the Detective just said she's been off from work for a long time. Maybe that was the reason. Perhaps, Hank was right and it could be interesting to find that out personally.

“I see. Sure. Since Lieutenant Anderson is still absent, you can help me with my investigations, Detective,” Connor replied in a friendly tone reaching for the case file. If she wants to be his partner, then she would need the necessary information.

“Amelia is just fine,” she gave him a small sincere smile. He felt that she had relaxed a bit already. Her shoulders were in a more casual position and her eyes now almost rested at his.

Even without analyzing it he knew her stress-level lowered. Maybe Connor was getting better at casual conversation.

“Okay, Amelia. I am Connor." He held out his hand.

At first, she hesitated but then she drew closer reaching for his hand. Amelia's hand was noticeably smaller than his hand, but, therefore, it was soft. After a quick handshake to confirm their business-partnership he gave her the case-file.

Connor suggested her to read over it while he gets the car.

Before grabbing his suit coat he gave her a short look. She wore a happy expression while reading the front page of the document. It was like her insecurity was gone. Just a moment ago she was stammering and nervous. Now she seemed to be all cheerful and pleased with her new task.

Possibly, she was more professional than he would have assumed. With that, he left for the exit.

With that newly gathered information about the complexity of the human character, even if it was collected within minor minutes, Connor saw the possibility to practice human interaction.

As long as they will work as a team he would be able to advance his skills concerning humans.

Although, he was already deviant for a long time he wasn't used to be 'human' around strangers.

He could not describe it with bare logic.

Some time ago he realized his own behavior. It was simple but irrational.

When he was with Hank, he was comfortable. It did not bother him how to place his words. He didn't care if his actions were appropriated. And it did not matter what he was.

When he was with Hank, he was Connor. Nothing more, nothing less.

But when it came to interactions with complete strangers, it was like someone flicked a switch. He was concerned about his attitude, his words. It suddenly mattered to be perfect. It was like he was afraid to fail their expectations. The thing was that this unintentionally tied him back down to his coding. Like he was regressing. Becoming a machine again.

Bonding with Amelia might help to get rid of this discomfort. He could try to analyze her behavior and convert it. At the same time, he had the chance to try to get to know her all by himself.

Connor left the DPD turning right to the parking lot, where Hank's car was waiting. Walking over to it he was spinning the keys in his hand.

Could he possibly try his coin tricks on keys?

Sitting down in Hank's old rusty car he turned on the radio. A broadcaster blasting hard rock, punk rock, and heavy metal all day long.

He turned up the volume after making sure the door was closed.

Then he took a coin out of his pocket and started spinning it between his fingers.

Connors' eyes started wandering around. The car was dirty and filled with wrapping papers and old paper cups, on the backseat different CD's were spilled all over, partly buried under Sumos blanket. Under the windshield, there were some notes for false-parking.

Hank always threw them away muttering that he was 'the Law' and that it was impossible that they made him pay for doing his job. Even if he wasn't working at the moment.

Connor would always collect them and pay them.

Hank wasn't the Law. He was a lieutenant.

Their next case was going to be a murder. A drug-addict was found stabbed to death in an empty side street not far from here. It was not usual for a murder to happen in that area. Most of his latest cases concerning substance-abuse happened in North- or West Detroit.

The current drug-situation was getting worse and worse.

Every day there was another victim. Either they were intoxicated, unconscious or already dead.

The biggest problem was, that drugs were hard to stop. Connor remembered Hank comparing them to rats. As soon as you bring one to the halt there will be 10 more within the next moment.

There was little use in chasing the consumers. They only knew how they found the next shot.

You had to aim for the bigger targets. The cartels and the gangs or the drug runner.

Sometimes even a minor dealer could be a lead.

But at this rate the police was clutching every straw they could get.

The things run outta hand.

The media were busy reporting about the current Android-Policy, so it was filled with Markus and President Warren. There were demonstrations, talk-shows, and news about the contracts and agreements they were concluding.

Nobody really was informed about what was going down in the streets.

He loved his job but it could be really depressing, sometimes.

Connor was glad he had some company for the next days. It was always more interesting to investigate with a partner. Since Hank's been sick for the last week he started feeling kinda lonely.

...

However, it really was inconvenient that there never was a good parking location, when they were in a hurry. Sometimes peoples lives were in danger, that wasn't the time for appropriate parking. Possibly there was a way to talk to Fowler about this issue. But Hank refused his offer, preferring to rage on.

Hopefully, Amelia was not that kind of a hothead. He loved Hank with all his heart but he was quite a handful when it came to losing his head.

Connor remembered the long break the Detective mentioned earlier.

Would she be fine with telling him? She seemed like a nice, but also withdrawn, person.

He will avoid scanning for further information. He will try out that way Hank suggested. Maybe they could become friends.

At least she welcomed him being an android. That was a good way to start. It would be hard building up a mutual relationship if she had the same opinion towards androids as Detective Reed had.

But as soon as Connor corrected the back view mirror he was remembered that his LED was missing. Due to reparation issues it was removed.

Several days ago it had a small defect and the colors were mixed and wildly skipped from one color to the next.

When they removed it, Hank asked him if he wanted to leave it that way.

After all, he did not have to wear it anymore.

But Connor was used to it and didn't actually bother that people knew he was an android in an instant. He was proud to be an android.

But on the other side...

Connor never had the option to pretend to be human. … On a daily basis, at least.

This one time he was searching Jericho did not count. He was just preventing to be shot without hesitation. That was something entirely different.

No, that was his chance to experience how it was when you were human. Or, at least, everyone assumes you are. It was perfect for analyzing behavior patterns.

As long as no one has told her yet, he could just act normal.

And say nothing.

That way he wouldn't be lying, either. Though, he had to be careful. Nevertheless, Miss Rockland was a detective.

So he will be human for today. Amelia will get to know Human-Connor.

The Connor who won't scan her, but will ask personal questions to get to know her. Just like a human would do.

He was already enjoying it.

And with that, he saw her entering the parking lot. He turned off the radio and then continued to juggle his coin. His new temporary partner opened the door and sat down.

While she fastened her seatbelt he took a moment to look at her. Her hair was messy and tied up with a simple hair-clip. She wore a brown leather jacket with a grey hoodie underneath. Combined with a simple blue-jeans.

It was simple and casual but it suited her.

As soon as she turned around her attention was bound by the coin, still dancing between his fingers. Sliding it back in his pocket he reached for the car key to start the engine.

He was amused by her attention. “Are you ready to head to the crime scene,Detective?”

Amelia was startled and her eyes where fixated into his direction.“Yeah,” she mumbled absently

What was wrong? Did he say something bad? Was she nervous again?

He did not want her to be nervous because of him. He wanted her to be his friend.

He carefully leaned over to her. Trying to meet her eyes. “Miss?”Connor almost whispered.

But her eyes darted up stopping right in front of him, sparkling with curiosity.

“Can you show me how you did this?” she babbled.

Connor needed a moment to process. A second ago he was afraid she wouldn't be okay, but she was only amazed by his little coin-trick.

That was adorable. A small laugh escaped his mouth as he leaned back and started the car.

“Sure, if you want to. I can try to show you as soon as we have time.” Connor shortly met her eyes. She seemed to have cooled down a bit. Less stiff. Less nervous.

He was glad.

“But first, let's solve a murder," Connor smirked. He probably shouldn't, but he loved Murder cases.

Glancing at the back-view mirror he again noticed his missing LED.

If she knew that he was an android? Would she bother?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear,  
> it's 4 am in my place...  
> I lost track of time.
> 
> I hoped it was little longer than the former chapter.  
> I figured it takes me almost 3days to finish a chapter. 
> 
> Probably I'm gonna stick to that.  
> (Update: Saturday/Sunday night is new-chapter-night)
> 
> So! Thanks for reading and hopefully we will see eachother in 3days.  
> (Update: next Saturday/Sunday)


	4. Parking Plot

February 2nd, 2039  
09:04am

We reached our destination. A busy street preparing itself for the still young day. People passing by, carrying bags and coffee cups, suppliers unloading their wagons, and stores getting ready. The sun was slowly spreading a golden shine over the wet street. It was peaceful but full of life.

The old dusty car pulled over and we stopped in a small drive. At first sight, you would never had the feeling that there happened a brutal murder some meters ahead. The only visible clue was a single patrol car and this one police lady talking to an elderly couple.

Some of the people walking by, stopped and peeked into the back alley between the restaurant and the apartment building.

Without another word, Connor opened the door and got off the car. He was apparently waiting for you to exit as well, so you stepped out and closed the door, walking up to him.

Although Connor recognized you standing in front of him, he was distracted by something. Following his eyes, you realized that he was scanning the area. Like soaking it all in.

After collecting all kinds of information his attention returned to you tilting his head slightly. The two of you exchanged a short glance before Connor adjusted his tie and headed into the back alley.

Without hesitation, you followed him wondering how such a simple thing can be so attractive.

As soon as you went around the corner, you were able to see the crime-scene at the end of the small drive. Police officers standing around, photographing, making notes, and talking to the local residents. You saw roughly about 8 policemen around here. Luckily no reporters in sight.

Before you reached the yellow tape enclosing the murder scene, you passed a small back entrance on your right.

It appeared to be the backyard of the restaurant you saw in the street. Next to the back door, there were standing a bunch of dumpsters and trash cans. Furthermore, a car parking there, too.

To your left, you could have a short look at a parking lot. Probably for the residents of the apartment building. You raised your head to eye the dusty gray building and spotted a handful of inhabitants spying from behind their curtains.

You couldn't really blame them, though. It's not an everyday-thing that there's a murder in your backyard.

Nearing the victim and the trouble around it, you saw the lifeless body being covered with a black cloth. Of course. There were all kinds of people watching. Of course, they would try to blanket the corpse.

Your eyes drifted over to Connor, who was again scanning everything around him.

His eyes were so focused. You should be equally focused. After all, you were here to work. It was your task as well to observe and evaluate. Not just watch Connor doing your job.

A police officer approached you. “Good morning. I suppose you are the Detectives?” he asked indifferently. Not the most committed policeman.

“That's correct,” Connor replied like this was a previously recorded answer. You gave him a quick checking look. His back was straight and his eyes directed at the officer.

He gave Connor a confused, “Good.” The Officer was also irritated by Connors stiff reply. “We are still questioning the inhabitants but you can have a look at the body and the place.”

As he ended his very short briefing he turned away and headed back to his co-worker, who was talking to an Asian-looking middle-aged man.

Connor faced you. You noticed that his shoulders were slowly relaxing now. As soon as the Officer came over, it was like he was a soldier in front of his superior. Could it possibly be that he was as nervous as you? Or was he just a professional? But why was he so calm around you? Would that mean he wasn't respecting you as a partner? On the other side, it could mean he sees you as an equal.

“I'm gonna inspect the body. If you notice anything don't hesitate to let me know.” With that, he left your side and walked over to the victim, placed between a couple of trash cans next to a bigger dumpster.

His voice had a softer tone again.

Once he left, you stood there for a couple of seconds pondering what you should do first. The victim, the weapon, the witnesses, the possible escape routes?

While Connor was already analyzing the body you were still clueless. Fidgeting with your hands you mumbled possibilities and way moving your head from right to left. Although the evidence was highlighted with those yellow plates, you didn't know where to start.

As your focus rested on Connor, who was just removing the cloth off the body, you took notice that you didn't even know what happened. Nobody told you. The report you read earlier was only about the former occurrences. You felt really stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

Shaking your head slightly while shoving your hands back into your pockets you walked over to Connor and the lady standing next to him, who was monitoring his movements. A bit rude to supervise him like that. Her skeptical face conveyed the feeling of her not trusting Connor and his actions. Maybe some people are just not used to give up the control.

At the time when you stepped closer, the lady softened her expression and gave you her attention. You gave her a more polite than honest smile, which faded since the lady didn't bother to return your politeness.

Right. Crime scene. No smiling. Serious face.

With a more sober expression, you gestured down to the body next to Connor. “Any clues so far? Do we have a name?”

The police lady simply took out a notepad and handed it over to you. While you were looking at the profile of the victim she continued to explain the situation in more detail.

”The Victim is Donald O'Sullivan. 46. His criminal record contains substance-abuse, multiple violent felonies, and driving under the influence of alcohol.”

The man in the picture had dark hair and starry blue eyes. Although, he was almost 50, he aged well.

You glimpsed over to the body once more. It wasn't a nice view. He was all pale and his clothes and hair were rain-drenched.  And under his eyes there were dark circles of blue and violet.

It looked like he's been lying there for weeks.

“And who found the body?” Connor interposed.

The police lady's face darkened again. Obviously, she had a problem with your new partner. Did they know each other?

“This Miss over there.” She pointed her finger at a young woman talking with a police officer. She had an orange blanket placed over her shoulders and seemed hysterical.

“This young lady discovered the corpse this morning. She was taking out the trash before heading to work and saw Mr. O'Sullivan lying between all this trash.” She gestured over to the trash bins surrounding the dead body.

He gave her a small nod and continued to examine the victim.

Staring at the overcast sky you started your cloudy mumbling again.

“Since the residents most likely take out their trash frequently I would guess the murder took place last night. Otherwise, the body would have been found sooner...” Your eyes lowered to the woman still standing next to you. “Is the exact time of death known?”

“Not yet. The tests are still running.”

Odd. Usually they have androids around who can evaluate such a test within seconds.

“And the murder weapon? Has it been found yet?”

“Yeah, it was found right next to the body. A common knife. But the rain apparently washed off the blood. The culprit must have worn gloves. There are no fingerprints on it except the victims.”

You turned to the dead body of Mr. O'Sullivan. Kneeling next to Connor you looked at the wound in his stomach.

Somehow it was less gross to look at the injury and the faint puddle of dark blood around him than to look into his lifeless eyes. But something wasn't right.

It was more like a frayed cut than a solid stab. You took a look at the knife that laid to his left. It was, like the lady said, a common kitchen knife. Nothing special. Would such a knife leave such a scruffy wound?

Suddenly Connor broke the silence. “You also noticed it, right? It doesn't really fit.”

Your eyes met. ”What else could it be?” You did not feel the need to repeat your train of thoughts. He obviously had the same thing in mind. His eyes drifted back to the dead body and after a moment of hesitation he rolled up his sleeves.

You watched him carefully shoving the fabric out the way worrying what he was up to.

”Co-Connor? What are you doing?”

But before you even finished your sentence you saw how Connor did something terribly disgusting.

He shoved his hand into the wound and started digging his fingers into the bloody opening. The wet sound of flesh froze the blood in your veins.

With a horrified expression, you regarded his calm and concentrated-looking face. It didn't seem to bother him to be stuck up to his wrist in a corpse. You turned around to check on the reaction of the other policemen, but those who witnessed it only looked disgusted but no longer disturbed.

You asked him as calm as you could, “Connor what- why are you doing this?” But instead of a reply, Connors' eyes narrowed.

“I almost have it.”

“What do you-” your question was no longer needed as you saw the blood covered piece of metal in Connors, equally bloody, hand. It looked like a small razor blade. His finger brushed over the newly found evidence revealing more of the silver metal.

“It looks like a- like a piece of those carpet knives. You know what I mean?” you almost whispered. “How did you knew it was in there?”

Connors' eyes grew wide and as he turned to face you he gave you a blank look. “I- I just had a feeling. That's it.” His reaction was unusual, but before you could ask any questions he jumped up and marched over to the next officer handing in the blade.

You were following him with your eyes in confusion for a second before going back to examine the body again.

You rose and observed the overall picture. The body was lying between the trash cans. Next to him the knife, which couldn't be the murder weapon, there was no blood on it and the stab wound didn't fit. It was probably the victims' knife, which he dropped after being attacked.

That would explain the missing fingerprints.

If the murderer stabbed Mr. O'Sullivan with the carpet knife, that Connor found the piece of, then he most likely took it with him or got rid of it on the way back.

You spotted one of the yellow evidence plates next to the dumpster. Getting on your knees you laid your head on the ground to spy under the dumpster. But there was nothing.

A voice came up. ”Miss-” The person's hint was interrupted by your head hitting against the bottom of the dumpster.

  
“Argh..!” you grunted holding your bump while carefully standing back up again.

Glancing up to the police officer you were talking to before, the one with the really brief briefing, you tried to shake off the wet dirt on your clothes.

He remarked, “The evidence on this spot was already removed. I am sorry. We should have informed you.”

So you laid in the mud for nothing? Great. Letting out a sharp breath you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“And what was that?”

The officer took out a small plastic bag of red powdered crystals. “We couldn't possibly leave this spilled over the floor,” he gave you a dry laugh before cutting it off and handing it to you.

The bag was an official evidence container displaying the weight and content: 0, 302 Gramm 'Red Ice'.

Additionally, the ingredients were listed. You always thought it was weird that Red Ice was partly made of the blue blood of androids. This was gross, like toenails in cheap cigarettes. You returned it to the Officer.

You wondered what might have happened here. A man comes into a dark alley, meets up with a man and gets stabbed. So far so good. The Red Ice is a clue for their rendezvous in an empty back alley. So one of them is the dealer and the other person the addicted? Both carrying a knife because they don't trust each other.

One of them was faster.

On your inside you were jumping up and down, singing and laughing. You were warming up with your job again and you felt amazing. It was hard not to smile from ear to ear.

But your elation was chastened by Connor's voice shouting through the backyard,

“Does this security camera recorded any useful information?”

As your eyes searched for the origin of his call you saw Connor standing behind the police line, pointing into a corner next to the small parking area of the restaurant.

You hurried over to him and after you reached him, you saw the small camera placed in the corner. Trying around, you ascertained that there was no way the camera recorded the murder. But maybe it filmed the culprit's arrival.

The middle-aged man you saw earlier piped up, ”This one is mine. I put it up there to get rid off those annoying raccoons! Or rats!” He merrily strolled over to you and Connor.

“May we have a look at the recording of last night, Sir?” you requested, once he stood right in front of you.

His eyes narrowed like he was in dying need of glasses. It took him a moment to think about your request, looking down to his feet. He snickered.

“Yes. Oh. Yes, yes. Of course. Miss Officer already asked for that!” he pointed at a young lady now heading over to you as well.

“Mr. Grace already offered his recording to us. I can show it to you if you want.” And without any other word, she raised her hand and projected the video on her palm.

A small, “Yikes...” escaped your mouth.

You never knew androids could do this.

Not like you knew anything about androids at all. You knew they basically were advanced sturdy humans with blue blood. That's it. To be honest, it never was in your interest to be up to date. But that was hella cool.

After you finished admiring her skills you tried to spotlight the video which has already started.

It was playing really fast, but since the place was quiet especially at night, the only change you noticed was the numbers in the right corner rushing by.

You could see the back entrance to the restaurant which was lightened up by a small street light.

The restaurant owners car was driving off at about 9pm in between many residents drove their cars to the parking lot.

At circa 1am the android lady slowed down the video to real-time. Now you saw a silhouette entering the back alley over the drive. The person walked by and as he passed the street light you were able to see his face. It was hard for you to recognize the person so you automatically moved your head closer to her palm narrowing your eyes.

Fortunately, the lady noticed your struggle and enlarged the picture.

You took a step back, now being able to identify the person without any problems. “That's him,” you confirmed. “That's O'Sullivan.” First glancing over to the place the body laid and then over to Connor, you turned over and faced the helpful android again. “And what's next?”

She continued playing the video on increased speed.

“Sadly, nothing. He only walks by and never leaves the alley again. The next significant movements are a car driving off the parking lot at 4:02am and some others following within the day. The next thing would be Mr. Grace arriving at 6:48am and the first patrol car called by Mrs. Natalie at 7:39am. There is no record of a suspicious person entering or leaving.” Her eyes were fixated on the ground and her lips curled down. She genuinely felt discouraged.

The android felt... what, empathy, frustration? That was a new experience for you. You wondered if you should connect more often with androids.

In a verbal way. Not the wired way.

“How are the interviews going? Have you questioned all the residents of that building?” Connor asked, brightening her gloom.

That was a good question. Now that the most likely escape route could be excluded, the next step should be to find out where the killer could have gone. The apartment building was a good start.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are almost done. It looks like most of them have a solid alibi. Even if it looks old and decayed on the outside it is a modern building, furnished with security systems and even some cameras at certain apartments.” the android explained.

You tilted your head back to perceive the big structure. The house facade slowly chipped and the color faded into a bitter gray. 5 levels. There were bigger buildings in Detroit, but it was hard work to interview every single resident. You could still catch one or two people peeking through the windows.

“How can you access the building?” you asked still watching the inhabitants spying the investigation.

“Through an identification system. Your fingerprint must be in the database to enter the house. Or you are in the company of a person being in the system,” she clarified.

“Then it's unlikely that the killer is hiding in there, right?” Your head still resting in your neck you slowly illustrated your thoughts, ”It wasn't only hard to enter. It was also too dangerous, because of the security cameras. In addition to that, if he would be hiding in there we would have already found him. Or do I miss something, Connor?” Your head turned over to him.

He, too, looked over to the windows, giving it a quick thought before agreeing, “Albeit, there is a chance that the culprit tried to escape over the complex it's unlikely.” Connor turned over to the Android and the restaurant owner.

”Thank you for your help, Mr. Grace. Miss, would you please escort this man back to his workplace?” he politely asked, making a small gesture leading to away from the crime scene.

The man and the android nodded and she brought him back to his restaurant having a small chat. You and Connor headed into the opposite direction passing the tape again.

“And how is it going, Detective?” you played a casual conversation raising your eyebrows in curiosity. You wanted him to exchange his clues with you but instead of a report, you received a small smile as tilted his head slightly.

“I am no Detective, Amelia.” he placidly responded his eyes losing some of their light.

You blinked. “I- I just thought- Because you were addressed as one when we came here. And the name tag of your desk was empty. I didn't know...,” you tried to apologize but felt stupid for it at the same time. It's not like you could have known.

“So, you are?” Trying to tickle out his rank you nudged his shoulder.

His small smile slowly crawled up again. “It's a bit complicated. At the moment I might be something between a detective and an officer.”

“How?” you gruffed, with a face made of a humorous smirk and squished eyebrows.

“I will explain it to you as soon as we have time for it,” he stated calmly. “And how is it going, Detective?” he jokingly mocked you nudging your shoulder back.

“Well,” you turned around observing your surrounding once more, “Mr. Donald O'Sullivan arrived at approximately 1am at this place. He was about to meet with a man he did not trust. That's why he took a knife with him,” you expounded.

“The bag of Red Ice they found under the dumpster most likely belonged to him. So we can assume he was about to sell it to the culprit, at least it would be the most logic.

"The killer arrives and they make the deal. Since he entered without getting caught by the camera I would say he a previously planned to murder the victim. At first thought, I'd say he wasn't ready to pay for the drugs so he decided to kill the dealer in a dark alley and run.” You turned back to Connor, who listened carefully, waiting for a confirmation.

He folded his arms behind his back and looked at the body before turning his attention back to you. “When the killer stabbed Mr.O'Sullivan with the carpet knife ,he lost a piece of the blade as he removed the knife. The drag of the detaching piece resulted in the culprit to leave a less clean cut than with a common knife.

"I support your thesis of the victim being the actual owner of the drug. As I examined the body, I found some leftovers of Red Ice powder in his jacket. In addition to that, it's probable that the container for the drug had a crack so the powder leaked into his pocket and when the killer stole the drug he accidentally scattered some of it on the floor,” he reconstructed.

“Really?” your eyes widened. Knowing your shot in the dark was correct made you feel all fluffy. Concealing a grin you continued your conversation, “And did they found any other traces of the drug here? Maybe it would give us a hint,” you replied, your eyes wandering over the floor searching for more red crystals.

Connor followed your eyes shaking his head. “No, nothing. Red Ice is water soluble, the rain washed it away. If there are any traces left it probably spread over the whole asphalt concentrating in the puddles. The only reason they found the confiscated amount is that the dumpster protected it from the rain.”

“So we got... no further clues. And how did he leave? The cameras would have caught him if he entered the building or took the drive." You titled your head back to stare at the tall cement wall. “And the walls are too high to climb. How high could it be? 4Meters?”

Connor situated himself next to you, copying your motion. “I don't think so. I would say about 16feet- I mean 4,8768… Meter?... Roundabout,” his voice lost its confidence in the last part.

You gave him a checking look. His eyes darted to the ground, his forehead furrowed. The corners of your mouth curled up and your squinted eyes moved back to the wall. “Roundabout, yeah?” you chuckled.

“I- I am good at guessing.” He slowly backed out, hands still crossed behind his back. “We- I should go check on the parking lot. You can ask if they ended the interviews." You watched him turning around before he disappeared behind the walls, isolating the parking lot from the rest of the alley.

This new partner of yours was quite unusual. Especially the thing he did with the body some minutes ago. Sticking his hand into a corpses stomach like it was a bag.

Normal people don't do that.

On the other side you were the one talking.

Still fixated on the wall, you figured that he could be right concerning the height. The translation from Meters to Feet sounded like he just looked it up on the internet. You can be good at guessing, but don't tell me you can guess correct up to four decimal places. He could have learned it by heart.

16 feet equals ...4...,9? Whatever.

In any case, it was hard to get along with this new system. It was without any visible structure and really got on your nerves. The metric system was less complicated. 100. That's the number you need to deal with. 100Centimeter are 1Meter. And that's the reason it is called Centimeter. Milli-,deci-, kilo-, and so on. Not some random limb.

And that was not the only thing you had trouble understanding with. It was the obsession with swear words that puzzled you. You understood that people are in the mood for dirty words when angry or frustrated, but some Americans used them in every sentence.

Especially Gavin, Captain Fowler, and the Lieutenant did.

It's not like you'd refused to say 'Fuck' from time to time, but this excessive use will remain a mystery.

Placing your hands in your pockets again, your heels started swinging back and forth. You thought what a pity it was, that you were off for such a long time. You would really have enjoyed watching Connors first day at the DPD.

Though he looks like a professional, he also seemed to be a bit shy and you often caught him off-guard. You could only imagine how nervous he must have been. All those new crazy people and this huge office.

In particular, the story of him and the Lieutenant building up such a strong relationship should be interesting.

How the grumpy drunkard and the young man with the puppy eyes became friends. Or a couple, you didn't manage to ask him. You wanted to talk to him and get to know him better. It was nice to meet new people again. It was like you've been locked away for the last half year.

Suddenly you heard a voice behind your back, "Miss, what are you doing there?”

You turned around looking into the face of the officer, who handed you the evidence bag with the leftover Red Ice. He crossed his arms viewing the tall gray wall. Biting his lower lip, his frown filled with wariness.

“With all due respect, Miss, but I don't think someone could jump or climb that high.”

“Maybe one of those perfect androids could!” the detective lady barked, the one who gave you the profile of O'Sullivan. She walked over to you and the officer with her arms akimbo, joining your little brainstorm group.

Apparently, another lady overheard her words promptly following.

“Androids might be bad-ass but we ain't fucking spider-man!” she hissed in a sarcastic tone. So she was an android, too. You didn't notice. But they were right; it was way too high to just climb up.

With all the sudden attention you felt like they were all staring at you for the whole time moving back and forth mumbling and just waited for someone to be brave enough to ask the potty detective if she's alright. Now surrounded by a small squad, you took some steps back to get a better image.

“What are you doin', honey? Going to try it out? A running jump won't help you either,” the grumpy police lady joked. With her argument starting, a run of suggestions and ideas made by the three policemen rained down on you.

“And what if there were two androids?”

“Why should there be two androids?”

“This way they could leg-up and reach the roof.”

“That might be true for one of them, but the second one wouldn't be able to climb up anyway.”

“That's true.”

“And if they used that dumpster? They could have got to the top!”

It was really hard to concentrate while this argument was playing in the background and everyone talking across each other. Rubbing your temples, you let out a sharp breath. This was insane, now they were loudly arguing about theories.

“We already agreed on the culprit being one person. So why are you referring to them as plural?!”

“I just try to keep an open mind, okay!?”

“What's with my idea? The dumpster. Come on, guys! If you climb on it you could make it.”

“This old dirty thing is standing right over there! It's way too far away from the wall.”

“And if you move it?”

“If someone moved it over there it would be still standing there, right? Or do you think the woman who called us was quickly thrusting it back before getting help?”

“The dumpster is not possible because of the dry asphalt directly under it. If the container was moved this night it wouldn't be there. The rain stopped quite recently, maybe an hour ago," you interrupted the not-really-detective-squad, silencing them.

Raising your arms to stretch, your eyes went over the place once more. The rain stopped this morning. You remembered well because you were searching for your umbrella and after you found it, it already stopped raining.

...Maybe you were looking for something that wasn't there anymore.

“What if it were 2 meters instead of 5?” you muttered.

“Yeah- that would be great but-” the policeman joked but then he stopped mid-sentence because you simply ran off.

“Hey!“

There was something you saw, but you forgot about it.

Your eyes darted over to the parking space of the restaurant. At the stairs, the owner and the android were still chattering. You overheard how he told her about her own daughter and how much they resembled. The android merrily listened. Rushing over, you drew their attention making both of them look up to you.

“Excuse me Miss, ehm, may I have another look at the video?... Please,” you explained in a hurry.

A short flash of surprise rushed over her face before giving you a tender smile.“Yeah. Of course.” She cupped her hands and presented them to you. A second later the video popped up playing in real-time. "Which part do you want to watch? Any special moment?”

“I- I don't know yet. Please just play it fast forward.” You squatted down, scratching  your fingers while watching.

The recording started with the sundown. The daylight faded and the street lights lit up. The first cars entered the parking lot, returning home.

In the upper right corner of the video, you were able to peek at a small part of the parking lot before the wall right next to the camera concealed the rest of it.

At 8pm Mr. Grace and some co-workers left the restaurant back door. Until late more and more cars came home.

At 1am O'Sullivan appeared walking by and heading into the dead end, where he was found the next morning.

Then there was nothing for a long time. The first car drove off, another and another.

You yelled, “Stop!” And held out both of your hands to catch her attention. She paused the video.

The frozen picture showed a big van passing by. “Could you..” With two fingers you drew circles in the air searching for the right word.”Could you just...play that part again and slow it down? Please.”

She nodded and the scene was playing more slowly. While reviewing, you were sure it could be the exact thing you couldn't remember before.

That's how he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you enjoyed reading!
> 
> I tried to improve my style a bit, still not used to all that writing!  
> First I do the concept, then I write it in a messy note and in the end I have to check the grammar, but I can tell you my English became so bad.  
> German grammar is really something different.
> 
>  
> 
> I heard many people were watching Let's Plays because they don't own a Play Station. Have you already played the game on your own?


	5. High spirits

February 2nd, 2039  
09:20 am

While you were looking for an escape route, Connor was walking over the parking area belonging to the apartments. It was possible that there was a hidden clue or a give away furthering his investigation.

Added to this he almost gave away that he was an android. He has to be more careful, otherwise, the Human-Connor-Day would end at 9 in the morning.

But as soon as he realized that you used the metric system and he was used to the US customary, he kind of slipped and responded with the exact translation.

The same applies to the blade Connor found earlier.

It wasn't authentic to 'just guess' that a piece of metal got stuck in the body. And furthermore, grabbing into the torso without asking if they found anything suspicious inside of it.

Connor looked at his still bloody hand. Now that he thought of it, it wasn't really human to just grab into a dead man's chest. It was harder to pretend to be human than he thought. He began to consider making a list of appropriated and inappropriate behavior.

The ground was covered with wet asphalt forming small puddles at certain spots which created a faint squish with every step Connor made. The cars were a varied mixture of the price range, some upper-class vehicle, and even two old-fashioned cars. All of them in good condition.

The only suspicious thing he could find was that the cars were gray. Every single car. Some lighter, some darker but no other color was visible. The parking lot had no energy at all. It was plain and cold.

Walking through the spaces he glanced over to the actual place of murder seeing you talking with the AX400 police android.

Connor was glad you successfully managed this situation. Even though you had difficulties at the beginning the insecurity slowly melted away and your perception sensitized.

When you arrived at the crime scene he was uncertain if you were ready to investigate a dead body. Regarding your high stress-level.

He waited for you to settle in and choose to give you some space. Taking you by the hand and leading you through the investigation would most likely have made you feel like a newcomer. He already learned that you were an experienced detective, you were practiced enough to find your own way through this job, and he was right.

After warming up your presence changed into a more confident one, concentrated bustling around you were finding clues on your own.

In parallel to the murder case, he took the chance to analyze your character.

He already collected a small amount of information. For example: When you were precarious or nervous you shove your hands into the pockets of your pullover, but when you placed them in the pockets of your leather jacket you were calmer or lost in thoughts. And when you needed to think your eyes focused on a calm spot while slightly moving your lips. It was like you were talking in silence.

He enjoyed watching you.

Therefore Connor still wasn't sure what opinion you were holding concerning androids.

You did not show any aversion when you met the AX400 police officer, who was showing you the camera recording, but that didn't mean anything. Detective Reed wasn't yelling at every single android he met, either. But Connor could tell that he would never choose an android to be his friend.

On the other side Connor saw you admiring the projection on her hand, and so he started wondering how much you even knew about androids. Maybe he could talk with you about them on occasion. It would be nice to inform you about his skills.

Even though he should avoid mentioning that android-skills are his. At least as long as he wanted you to interact with Human-Connor.

Seeing you talking with a man who wasn't at the crime scene some minutes ago, aroused his curiosity.

A short face-scan told Connor that Mr. White was the caretaker of the building. You were discussing something before he and some police officers vanished in something that appeared to be a tool shed. What were you up to?

In order to answer this question, Connor left the parking lot and searched for his new partner. Surrounded by three officers you were standing at the spot he left you and it looked like you were explaining something to them. Walking over he listened to your speech.

“Okay, so the theory is simple:” you started out,

“The left over the drive or the apartment building is not viable. So there has to be another way. We are standing in a dead end with at the very least approximately 5meter high walls.

“It began with me wondering why those trash containers over there were standing here and not at the actual backyard of the building, when they clearly belonged there.

"But then, I saw how many cars were leaving and arriving in the video Mr. Grace provided. It was simply too crowded to have enough place for a big dumpster, now there standing here.” you introduced.

As you went on with your deduction Connor saw small stars shining in your eyes. He could sense how passionate you were.

“So?” the unfriendly female Officer interrupted. She was the one who supervised Connor when he examined the body earlier.

From previous cases, he knew that she wasn't sympathetic with the new accomplished rights for androids.

In the beginning, he was apprehensive that she might blow his cover in front of you, but fortunately, she didn't say anything.

There was a small possibility that her reticence was related to the upset Hank was causing at their last case. He went completely out of control and rebuked her for treating Connor with such disrespect. Eventually, she was later scolded for this behavior by a direct superior.

The woman's comment wasn't bothering you. But apparentl you were happy that she was asking.

“I mean, if the parking lot is so full that they had to move the trash, it's likely that some cars also had to park outside the parking spaces. For that reason I asked this lady,” you pointed to the AX400 who was moving closer. “if she would replay it for me. And then I recognized something...” your voice trailed off. With your words, you caught the police's attention more and more.

“If you could do me the favor... “ you appealed to the AX400.

Connor watched the audience drawing a close circle around the police android. She started playing the video he saw before, but this time it was beginning at 4 am playing fast forward until it stopped.

  
He had a bit trouble seeing the screen by all this sudden curiosity. Several heads were shifting in front of the screen blocking the view.

As the video stopped it went silent at first, and then the mumbling started. Obviously, they were completely oblivious. But Connor understood what she tried to explain and that was sincerely something he hadn't noticed himself either.

He was not entirely sure if he bothered or if he was delighted for you because of your accomplishment.

You were looking at uncomprehending faces. Eyes hopping from one to another you checked if one of them could see it, at least one. Connor noticed a diminutive smirk appearing on his lips.

“It's a van...? A transporter?” the male human officer felt the need to break the silence and started to guess.

“Actually it's a Fjord Transit. Though it's the newer version, it's from 2020 and therefore quite old. But I don't really understand the importance of this thing. Except for the height and the age, there's nothing special about it at all...” a female KY300 android was obviously seeing more than she noticed. She went quiet for a second before her eyes rushed up to meet yours. “Oh.”

Connor was surprised by how easy it was for you to make them think on their own.

Instead of just telling them you explained it to them step by step so they could follow your thoughts. It was unusual to witness your lesson for him.

Normally, the responsible detective just took notes and went off to report it to the authorities. Connor never saw any detective interacting with the ordinary police staff so attentively.

“Exactly.” you huffed. ”I noticed that not until watching it twice, too. It's not leaving the parking lot. It's leaving the dead end."

As the people moved closer to look at the picture in more detail, you took a short break before continuing.

Connor was amused how deep you were into this; you really wanted to mesmerize them with your words.

"And it was there the entire night. Say, Miss,” she was addressing the KY300, “ you seem to know quite a lot about this vehicle. Could you tell us more about the total height of it?”

“Sure thing. It's 106,21inch to the roof. It's the medium height model so there are some being bigger than 118,11inch. Some big ass car, huh? No idea why they need such. Not my business anymore, anyways.” the android explained.

“I think I understand.” the male officer stated. “That's what you meant with reducing the height...”

“Right. If I get on the roof of that van I can climb up the wall, which remaining height would be about 2 and a half meters. That's entirely possible to do with some effort and skill.” you added.

Your eyes raised up to meet Connors. He was proud of you for getting back in the game that quick. The small smirk still rested on his face. You returned it with your big still sparkling eyes.

“And therefore, I arranged a way to look at my thesis more closely.”

The policemen, Connor saw leaving earlier with the caretaker, just arrived back at the crime scene carrying a ladder.

Placing it against the wall it looked like something a health-insurance wouldn't approve at all. Going up there would be overly risky. But before he could ask any questions you took him by his wrist and pulled him with you towards the uncomfortably high ladder.

“Are you coming, Connor?” you turned around shining brightly at him.

Even though he would prefer not to, he couldn't possibly say no to you. He could almost feel your excitement spreading over to him. So far, he never met anybody having a similar feeling for solving crimes and following the murders steps, except himself.

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to climb up there and running over the rooftop without any safety precaution.

Nevertheless, he had no choice. Either you would go with him or without him.

“Yes.” he gave a short but determined answer. Rushing over to the wall Connor climbed after you, while two officers were holding the ladder for stabilization.

“Hey, you, wait,” the KY300 called out for you, ”I don't want to stay here waiting for the riddle's answer. Blast it! Let me come with you.” She didn't seem to be open for any argumentation, so Connor didn't even try.

So she followed you and Connor. When Connor almost reached the middle of the ladder the male police officer stated his concern.

“Miss, are you really sure that's a good idea? What if you get hurt? Maybe we should-”

“Yeah, thank you I'm fine. Don't worry we can handle this!” you yelled from the top cutting him off. Though you answered with a smile your voice sounded sharp and even bit rough. Connor also reached the top after a few seconds, then the KY300.

From the top Connor was able to look over the whole backyard he's been investigating the whole morning.

The consistency of the parking lot still made him feel uneasy. He wondered if his aversion for uniformity was caused by Cyberlife having a penchant for it.

And his experience with Cyberlife.

Connor gave you an apprehensive look. It was far too dangerous for you to just carelessly strolling over the roof. You didn't even reach the top yet. To get up there you needed to climb even higher. The next hurdle was a red brick wall towering in front of you and Connor wasn't sure if you could do that. It was 1,21 times higher than you and with that not impossible but still hard to just jump over.

The KY300 took the lead and rushed over it without any complications, standing on the platform, the wall ended in.

She gave Connor a mischievous smile like she was asking for a competition. Arms resting on her waist she glanced down at him waiting for his move. Connor wasn't sure if she was arrogant and boasting about her performance or if she wanted to see if he could cut a better figure.

After the KY300 clambered up that wall, you were struggling to do the same. Hesitation was blocking your way.

Connor was standing behind you making sure you don't fall, but staring at the red bricks wasn't exactly a motivation. You took a moment before taking a deep breath.

You gave it a short run before jumping at it holding onto the wet wall. It was quite high for your condition but, after a moment you hefted up and crawled over it.

On the top, you turned back at him and looked at Connor with a dropped jaw. Looked like you didn't expect to really make it up there. Connor jokingly mirrored the tiny 'o' your lips formed.

Then he did like the android before him and jumped up the wall, without any complications. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he glanced back at the other android.

The corners of her mouth formed a small bow into a pout while her brows raised into an approving expression. She might not be impressed but accepted his competence. You on the other side were more than impressed.

“That was slick!” you remarked, boxing his upper arm.

Like the pun was intended, you skid on the slippery roof-tiles upsetting your balance. Tottering you waved your arms to get back your poise.

Connors' eyes widened and he quickly reached for your waist to stabilize you. As he made sure you found your balance again he let go of you.

That was the exact thing he wanted to avoid.

In contrast to his alarm, you just chuckled a mildly surprised, "Thank you," and kept going.

After walking up the slant tiles with high regard you reached the end of the roof.

Down there was a wide backyard and to your right began a narrow path, coming to a short ladder with only a few steps leading to the main roof. It formed the street side you and Connor drove down to come here.

Connor carefully drew closer to the edge. A handrail protected him from falling into the deep. He gazed down at the backyard, which was quite a way down. Your current height amounts to 26,3 feet. A fall from that height would cause...a serious damage to the human body.

Or an android's. Connors hand subconsciously grabbed the rail.

By now he realized that you were standing right next to him throwing down a wary peek. You tried to brush your hair out of your face with the left hand but the wind kept blowing it into your view. The other hand wrapped the handrail as well.

In the current situation, you might be the one in charge but he was the one who was responsible for you. When Fowler ordered Connor to take you with him he had a reason to. It was still your first case for a long time. Connor didn't know why you had to take a break of this length but it would be inconvenient if you had to take another. He had to keep an eye on you.

Moments later you lifted your head to observe the way you still had to go. As you turned back to Connor, you jumped back a bit as you instantly met his eyes. It caught you off-guard that he was looking at you the entire time.

He could tell you were nervous but didn't want to go back. He could understand this feeling just too well. It was the same with him.

“Please take care, Amelia.” Connors expression softened and a warm smile formed.

Your brows lifted up and your lips parted an inch. Your eyes widened letting in the warm colors of the sun, they reflected a soft glow.

He couldn't tell what emotion you were showing.

Your eyebrows showed surprise and your eyes showed elements of curiosity but your lips said confusion.

It was hard to interpret this expression.

He was about to ask if he did anything wrong but then your face eased and a warm smile appeared on your lips spreading warmth up to your eyes.

“Thank you, Connor,” you replied giving him a feeling he could not describe.

Turning around you left him standing there by himself.

...Processing...

Something inscrutable just happened to him. May he should consider to self-test again. Hopefully, there were no errors in his program.

"Whoa. That's really not that bad!" The android pointed at the ongoing roof to your right. "I don't see a way Mr. Murder could have jumped that place down without croaking." the KY300 said nonchalantly. "We should go up there, huh?"

It was covered in dark tiles slightly shining thanks to their wet surface. The total length amounts to 169,521 feet. He had to agree on the suggestion, it was indeed the way they should go, but just thinking of walking over there made a shiver run down his spine.

Shortly after he followed you and that other android upstairs, the handrail was missing but the height increased. Standing on the pitch of the building Connor chose his steps wisely and looked down at a backyard.

It was even more solitary than the one you just came from. It was completely overgrown and unkempt. The leaves and grass, supposed to be a healthy green, were colored meagerly brown. Some clotheslines run over the empty yard and some dumpsters were the only attractive about it.

Connor felt something slightly pulling his sleeve. It was your hand holding on to his underarm staring down into the deep. Your wide eyes were telling him that you weren't as careless as he had initially thought.

Biting your lower lip your eyes swayed from Connor's to the bottom repeatedly before you opened your mouth, "Okay. That's high..." was all you commented.

“If you are not comfortable with the height it's okay to go back,” he argued.

But you only replied with a shake of the head. “No. I'm- I'm fine. I'm just not used to it. But it's not like I'm frightened of falling or something,” you justified.

You might have said that, but still, your hand was holding onto him.

It wasn't hard to see that you were not okay with this height, but stubbornness was a character trait, too.

Taking another step forward he gave the ground another checking look. It was feeling higher than the number in his head said. The clear fact felt like a lie.

Connor was starting to regret following you up here. Thankfully, you were still holding his arm, otherwise, it would be much worse. To lighten up the mood a bit he decided to try out something he normally avoided around strangers.

He raised a brow giving you a doubtful look. “I don't think the fall would be the problematic part, here.”

  
The original intention was it to make a joke but he said it with such a dry voice it came out like something... an android would say. Standing straight again he waited for your reaction.

“Yeah.” you snorted. ”Thanks.” Letting go of his arms you turned around beginning to toddle down the roof.

Though, you weren't laughing about the bad joke it seemed to at least distract you from the tension. Connor was content with the result. Walking up the pitched roof as well he made sure to be only one step behind you.

He liked it better when you were still holding onto his shirt.

Spreading your arms for balance you, walked right in front of him and every time you began to totter his arms jerked in your direction, ready to catch you. Slowly losing his head he decided, that he needed to go off the roof as fast as possible.

While he was suffering you enjoyed the adventure. The sliding tiles and the fear of falling didn't seem to bother you anymore. He was so jealous.

Where your worries ended his began. The more he was on this roof the more he felt the fear burning him.

“So what I was asking myself..,×” the android started a chat. “ How did that killer-guy get over here in the shitty rain without slipping? Maybe he was an android...I don't have a problem to walk up here.”

You huffed, “Huh, yeah. maybe you have point there. Androids dealing with drugs? Is that a thing?”

“Ah don't know. Maybe.”

Connor felt so excluded from this conversation. You were over there and he was... here.

But he couldn't just ask to help him. Holding his hand and comforting him. He was not a kid. He was grown up. At least that what comes near to that. Not that he ever has grown. He was just a year old. But he was at age.

“Say, what was your name again? I didn't catch it earlier” you asked the KY300.

“I'm Layla. Nice to meetcha.” she clicked with her tongue. “And you are Amelia. And your pretty friend over there is Connor” Connor met her mischievous eyes wandering up and down on him. Her lips curled up and she turned around. “What's wrong with your hand, man?” she asked focusing ahead.

What?

  
Connor lifted his arm and saw the dead man's blood still covered his hand. It was going over to his sleeve which slid down with every move. Oh. He completely forgot about it. Slowly pulling up his sleeves again he kept walking.

“I had no chance to clean it til now. So I will have to wait for an opportunity. There is little use in wiping it over my clothes.” he explained.

Without looking at him you kept walking over the slippery roof avoiding to fall. “I would offer you a handkerchief but I don't have one with me right now. Maybe we can find one in Hank's car.” you offered.

It was interesting that you knew it was Hank's. Of course, it wasn't exactly Connor's style so the guess wasn't that far-fetched. Still, it showed that you were open for the small everyday details. Like a detective should be.

He watched how Layla playfully chatted with you. She was insolent and overexcited. Though being an android she had no problem in talking informally.

He wished to have this confidence. Most androids were hard to tell if human or not. Like Markus and his friends established into the world, she did too.

Only Connor never reached this point of humanity. He had sentiment and a free will. But was still remaining a bit too stiff to be human and way too sentimental to be a machine.

Within a couple of seconds, you and Layla became 'friends' happily talking. He wanted that, too.

“Still amazed how you did this Ams. It was so simple as you explained it but nobody was getting that thought by themselves. I think that's pretty cool. Even we androids didn't think of it. I don't want to play the racism card. But in topic perception, we are kinda ahead of you.”

“Ha, thank you, Layla. But it was more luck than anything else. I just listened and had a stupid idea. I am more impressed that they allowed us to walk up here like that. Not safe at all.” You both began to snicker.

“You only need to be quick. Oh, the trick is just to vanish before they say no. “

A shot of breath rushed between your lips. “I like the sound of that!”

Meanwhile, Connor kept struggling with this unpleasant feeling.

Every time his eyes darted down he felt this impact. His muscles clenched and hands shook. He failed to stop. He couldn't stop looking down there. It was high. But it wasn't that high. It would damage him but it wouldn't kill him. Moreover, he wouldn't fall in the first place, his balance was beyond perfect. He was aware of that. He knew that. It wasn't logical to be afraid. But the logical side of him faded day by day. And because of that, he could not stop gazing.

“What's wrong pretty face?” Layla mocked him making him look up to the two of you. “Don't tell me you are afraid of the heights.”

Feeling caught he tried to get more confidence in his posture. A bit frantic he straightened his back and corrected his tie, without thinking of the trail of blood he now distributed over his collar. If he had to guess he would say he was embarrassed. Another unpleasant feeling. Often occurred in combination with weakness.

Out of curiosity you stopped and turned around as well. The structure of your expression gave away that you were worried. Connor didn't like people being worried about him.

He wanted to explain his fear to you but he didn't know how.

It was the first time Cyberlife send him on a mission on his own. To save a hostage was his order, a young girl. The situation went out of control, they lost two men and one was heavily injured. Connor almost had the deviant.

But it must have been something he said, that made the deviant angrier than he already was. The last chance he had was to tear the deviant down. It was inevitable in order to accomplish his mission.

And every time his eyes met the ground he felt that impact again. Parts of him shattered and his head crashing onto the asphalt. He thought of the red and blue shadows the police cars threw and reflected on the glass of the skyscraper or the sirens drawing nearer as he fell.

The look Daniel gave him. The sadness and those hopeless eyes. He was blind for it. When he was a sole machine back then, he was not bothered by that memory. Another look into the deep, made him feel that impact hitting into his stomach again.

“I'm fine” Connor stated with as much determination as he could gather. There was no use in explaining. When he met your eyes he knew you weren't convinced by his words, but he couldn't help it.

“Don't worry. We almost did it,” you forced a slight smile. Only a few seconds and he could climb down to solid ground again.

“Yes,” Connor responded.

As you promised, you reached the end of the slippery tiles and came to a straight platform with fire escape stairs right next to it. Relieved you jumped down on the even surface. Enjoying the sturdiness, you turned to Connor.

He was taking a few steps away from the edge and closed his eyes for a short moment. He needed to calm down again. It was over. He just needed to breathe through.

Suddenly Layla jumped over the gap between the platform and the fire escape. Waving you over to her she demanded, “What? Don't be soft cheese, hop! It's not hard.” You looked at the space you had to get over. Connor was standing behind you, watching. The distant was 5,9 feet. Not insuperable but the price of falling would be drastic.

“Yeah, listen, I don't think I can do that.” you excused making Layla's happy smile turn into a pout.

“Whaaaat- No you can do that. You can jump together!” she gave Connor a grin. ”Suit and tie will help you!” You turned around to him.

He stepped forth to look at the distance.

It wasn't much. Of course, he could do that. The question was more how. Loading the simulation program he was selecting the indications.

He had to be gentle, he couldn't just throw you over the railing. It must be appropriated concerning your current relationship, grabbing you and putting you over his shoulder might be not. And Connor should select the safest route. His hand's had to be free.

...Processing...

“Okay.. but how are we doin' this?” you pattered.

...

...Simulation completed.

Before you could end the question, Connor kneeled in front of you showing his back to you. Waiting for you to mount he got no response.

After half a minute you finally raised your voice, “Are you … sure? About this.” it wasn't hard to hear the lack of trust you had.

“Yes, come on. I'll carry you and we will jump together.” Connor tried to convince you.

“You must be kidding,” you said bluntly.

“Please trust me.” he insisted.

“Ah- I don't want to.” you stuttered.

That was mean.

Though, he wasn't mad. After all, you had no reason to trust him, yet. But he won't just back down and walk back that roof just because you didn't want to climb on his back.

“If I would not be sure we can do this I wouldn't offer it to you. I am probably more afraid than you are” he persuaded you. He wasn't even lying. It could be that he was more stressed than you were.

After a short moment of hesitation, you crawled onto his back locking your arms around his neck. He could say you felt uncomfortable; you avoided physical contact as long as it was not necessary.

Connor returned to an upright position getting back from the edge leaving some space to run. He corrected your arms, pulling them tighter around him, and held onto your thighs. Your face was now digging into his collar and strands of hair brushing over his neck.

It was almost tickling.

“Hold on tight” was the last thing he said before jumping over the edge. With a bounce, his feet landed on the rusty metal grid of the rotten fire stairs.

Slowly raising your head you breathed, “Are – are we alive?” against his neck. Receiving a chuckle, he put you down.

Readjusting your clothes, you took a deep breath, turning back at the gap you huffed, “Wow, you are amazing.”

Connor swallowed. That could be hard to explain. Fixing his eyes at any place except your face he readjusted his tie by default. That should be hard to explain.

He opened his mouth to speak any believable explanation as Layla punched his arm. With more force than necessary.

“You're the athletic guy, huh? I already knew that you had something when I saw those muscles!” Layla cheered grabbing his upper arm. “You don't seem like it but you got quite the strength, pretty boy.” Connors' eyes rested at Layla's face who just gave her a subtle wink before walking down the stairs.

Did she flirted or was she just... did she covered him? There's no way she didn't know he was an android too. She knew his name and that is an indicator for a scan, right? Was she helping him? Does she know that he tried to act like a human in front of you? If yes, why was she helping?

Without another word, she ran down the stairs her hand sliding over the railing. Connor was still confused. Watching her leave merrily he stood there thinking of a possible reason.

Minding her vivid character it could be out of sheer entertainment, but it was thought-provoking nevertheless. He moved to you. In the meantime you put your hand into the pockets of your pullover again, eyes searching a reliable distraction. You were not well with the situation.

Witnessing intimacy like flirting and touching was uncomfortable for most people. Connor himself was less distracted by it, though it was helping him at the moment.

He couldn't keep that up for the whole time. He was in dying need of a plan. He didn't even have a last name let alone a passport.

You tried to scramble around him to get down the stairs avoiding to say anything. Connor just hoped it was only a temporary embarrassment, which is not interfering your work-relationship. As you stepped down, he waited for an appropriated distance between you two to avoid to stress you even more. Personal space was something he learned from Hank.

Three levels later Connor walked over the neglected lawn over to you and Layla. She was just lifting the lid of one of the three dumpsters examining its content. While moving closer, Connor analyzed the area further.

Right behind him, the fire escape exit. To his left the clotheslines he already noticed before and an open garage with an old car unable to drive. Around it some shelves and a workbench. In front of him, the walls ended and the next street was visible.

A fence with bushes shimmering through from the street-side defined the compound. In the middle of the fence was an open gate. A trail through the grass showed that cars must drive on this back-courtyard frequently. At the moment there was none.

The buildings on the other side showed no cameras. If the culprit escaped that way it will be hard to find him without any useful evidence.

There were no fingerprints or DNA found and, except the apartments, there was no way he could have hide in the immediate vicinity. The dumpsters Layla was checking right now were spread before the fence.

Completing his analysis, he now stood next to you. You and she were peeking at the content made of several dark plastic bags, her one hand holding the lid while the other was resting in the back pocket of her pants. But Layla wasn't just looking at it, she was scanning.

“Jackpot” she popped her lips. “Suit and tie,” obviously talking Connor, your faces turned into his direction, “Since you don't bother to be covered in dirt... Mind to get this out here?” she asked. Tossing the lid back it smashed against the fence making a metallic rattle sounding over the back-yard.

He raised an eyebrow squinting his eyes. “Why? What's in there?” Connor took a closer look already shoving up his sleeves once more. On first sight, he did not 'see' anything. The analysis said there was something of great interest in one of the bags.

“Over there.” She pointed at a plastic bag buried under the others. “It's in there. You will see. I'll take a look at the others,” she said going over to the next, phoning the policemen over a separate two-way-radio.

“Yeah, hey it's Layla. We found some evidence over there... Yeah just around the block. I'll send my location to you.”

  
Without hesitation, Connor climbed over the seam and fell right into the number of trash-bags.

As he heard you laughing he looked up. You were leaning over nonchalantly, watching him crawling in the dirt with an amused expression on your face.

He tried to stand up but the ground was too lose to get a good stance, after some unsuccessful attempts he just gave in and crawled over, digging through to the found evidence Layla mentioned.

Opening the said bag, a yellow helve fell out together with plenty of garbage. He winced and prevent getting all the waste on his clothes.

Carefully taking the yellow piece, it reveals to be the helve of a carpet knife. Holding it up, so you can see it, too, you exchanged a serious look. He just held the murder weapon in his hand.

After checking if there was nothing left in the bag he climbed back out again. “You're too good for nothing, aren't you?” you teased him as you stretched out your arms offering your help. He considered it to be a nice gesture, nevertheless it wasn't necessary.

“She is right. I'm dirty anyway.” Connor explained. It would make no sense if the others had to climb in and soil their hands. You giggled gleefully as he landed on his feet.

“What?” his eyes bolted up to yours.

“Nothing.” you snorted. “You just said you're dirty.”

Connor learned that humans like to perceive sexual terms as amusing. It was unclear for him where the humorous aspect was hidden but it often worked with adults. Children were less interested in them. Because of obvious reasons.

The joke you found in that synonym was really flat, though. Yet, you found it funny. He couldn't help but respond with a small laugh. No more than a sharp exhale, but it was entertaining seeing you snickering to yourself.

Back out, he looked down on himself. He really was messy. He contemplated to drive home and change before going back to work. He might not bother the smell nonetheless he could tell that humans did.

After that Layla called the two of you over, making Connor climb into it again. In the end, you found:

the carpet knife, a pair of leather gloves size L cut into pieces, and the detachable blades of the knife.

Separately the first police car arrived. A policeman walked up and Connor and the two of you were told that the area will be supervised for the next hours. They will look for the culprit until the laboratory findings are done.

In addition to that, you handed in the found evidence. Connor was already preparing his report while listening to you talking to Layla.

“And we need to wait for it even though you can technically process it within seconds?” you asked rhetorically filled with astonishment.

“Yup” she popped her lips again. “But I don't have the permission to. Only the high-class androids are allowed. But I think we don't have any high ranked police androids just now...” Layla explained as her hand rested under her chin.

You shove your hands into the pockets of your leather jacket throwing your head in your neck exhaling.  
“And that is why...?” you tried to elicit a response.

“Yeah, the thing is-” she took a breath before going on, hands placing on her hips. “If a super brain like me carries around all this knowledge without any restriction, the big guys worry that I have too much data about people. As we were still obeying every shitty order it was fine. We were like walking computers for them, but now we can just do whatever we want and with freedom comes limitation. What I am allowed is to analyze and collect data. I could send the scanned prints on the laptop of some Captain so he can do the allowance. You understand that?”

“Yeah, so it's understandable yet slowing down the investigation.” You closed your eyes, rubbing your hand over your face.

“At least for the time being, yes. Maybe they change it again.”

“Androids obtained various civil liberties since the revolution, even so, plenty of new regulations were set.” Connor interferes.

You huffed “That sounds complicated.”

“Yeah it fucking is!” she howls.

The conversation was really interesting for Connor to watch. It was reassuring to hear that you were interested, too. The topic was really difficult at the moment.

He and Captain Fowler still tried to place Connor in the system. He was designed to do this job, it was the one thing he was really good at and the Captain understood that Connor wanted to stay. He also agreed in considering his experience when he decided to place him.

Right now, the plan was to make Connor a detective. The problem was that he never graduated, accordingly, he had no credentials.

As a detective, he would be allowed to analyze evidence right away and would have more liberties in general. But until that he was the same rank as any android who just joined the DPD, technically he was an apprentice. Without an ID and no name on the plate of his desk.

His moaning partner jolted him out of his thoughts attracting his attention. You were raising your arms over your head and stretched onto your toes releasing a yawn.

He wondered if you slept enough, he remembered that the first thing you did was walking to the coffee machine. A desire for caffeine was often linked to sleep deprivation.

Rubbing your eyes you took your phone out your pocket. ”Are we- are we done here? How late is it-” You glanced at your screen which was displaying the time in the middle. It was 10:01 am. “Oh. It felt like noon. It's just ten. Ah, Connor?” He tilted his head to look at you. “Are we heading back?”

“I think that will be okay. We have to wait for the results and next lead anyway.” Connor opened his left arm to show you the direction. “Should we walk around the block? The car is still parking at the crime-scene,” he offered and started to walk, you followed.

“Yeah sure. Bye Layla!” you called for her as you almost left the place, waving. You received a wink, but Connor was not sure if he might be addressed. Suddenly he received a message.

'Go get the girl, man! Your secret's safe with me. Eat her out, chicks dig that!'

In confusion, he turned his head and saw Layla with a wide grin holding a thump up.

He was not sure what she meant with eating her. Eating human flesh was not exactly something he would yearn for.

But he guessed that he understood the overall intention of her message. So her intention was to help him bond with you in a romantic way if hegot that right.

That was kind of her, but frankly, it was not his aim to lure you into a relationship while pretending to be human.

Relinquishing complicated explanations he just smiled and waved back at her, too. And left the scene walking across the next street.

Now was the chance to get to know you better. Except for the most basic information and some habits he hadn't collected much. But Connor needed to be careful what he wanted to ask you.

Or should he start with talking about himself first, but that would be egoistic, wouldn't it? He mustn't ask the too personal questions, people always felt uncomfortable with.

If he picks up the topic of androids again he would know where he stands, yet he was not ready to talk about androids. At least it would be suspicious, wouldn't it? He bespeaks enough for one day. The best route should be to go for small talk. A direct question would show that he was thinking about it too hard.

On the left side of the street, he saw a drug store and remembered how Hank slept terribly last night. That was the reason why Connor wanted to stay home for today. Hank hadn't slept more than a few hours and the medicine could help him to get some rest for the night.

“Amelia, would you bother if I go over and get something for Hank?” he asked politely pointing over to the store marked with a green neon cross.

“No, yeah sure. Let's go,” you shrugged.

You were waiting outside while Connor went in and came back 2 minutes later carrying a small paper bag. He got him something to sleep tight, so he could bring it over to him when he gets new clothes.

Stepping down the steps of the short stairs he looked through the window, glancing back at the druggist; she was behaving strangely.

“Are you okay? You look confused,” you asked him.

Eyes still fixated on the pharmacist, he rolled up his sleeves again. “Eh, no. Nothing the woman who served me was just so distant and intimidated.” He faced you again meeting your eyes. “I hope I did not say anything wrong.”

He received a scrutinizing look before you raised his arm up on his eye level. It was soiled with a mixture of waste and the dried blood of the corpse he touched before.

Realizing this he acknowledged how plausible her reaction was just now. He closed his eyes to let out a sigh.

“Yeah, I think I understand her. Furthermore, you smell really bad. My detective brain tells me it's the trash you sopped your clothes in.” You released his arm. “Hopefully you didn't pay with that hand,” you joked.

The truth was that Connor did hand her the money with his bloody hand.

That would explain why she stepped back before he left. It wasn't his intention to scare her, but he really did not had in mind that this could be the issue with her.

Since the revolution, he met people who were really afraid of androids, maybe it was the conversion of balance or accepting android as a new life form and not their personal assistant. However, this woman was simply scared away by the slough of blood and dirt covering him.

“You really look like a mess, Connor. I mean,-”

You pointed out your jeans covered with stains of dirt and the traces of blood he accidentally transferred on your clothes. It was less conspicuous than his attire yet you were dirty, as well.

”-I'm not much better but you just spooked the drug-store. Maybe you should get some new clothes as soon as possible,” you suggested before continuing to walk down the street. With three large steps, he reached you so you were walking next to each other.

The little disruption was convenient, he had some time to think of how to start this conversation and selected multiple topics and questions he could access.

Ready to get to know Amelia Rockland, he walked in silence for a moment preparing to talk.

But he did not say anything at all. It was peculiar; sometimes he had difficulties to speak with people. He had the words arranged and they just waited to leave his lips, but whenever he opened his mouth it was like something was hindering him.

Often this restraint was linked to meeting strangers or talking about serious topics, but he only wanted to ask her how her day was. Nothing frightening, not too personal or embarrassing. Only small talk.

“Miss Amelia?” he managed to finally say. Receiving a warning look from you, he corrected his remark, “Just Amelia, right. I am sorry.”

A soft expression spread over your face humming an “hmm-hmm?” a note for him that you listened.

“How was your first investigation since your... break?” he didn't know why you were gone for such a long time, though he tried to avoid to force you to an explanation.

Joyful you smiled at him, marching forward to turn around, now you were walking backwards directly ahead Connor.

He figured it was to facilitate making eye contact while walking, though it was improvidently to walk backwards on a crowded sidewalk.

He could tell that you stifled a grin but your eyes betrayed you.

“I'm happy. I was waiting so long to investigate again, that I was afraid to mess it up, but it was really fun.” you run your fingers through your hair, shyly looking at him. “And, what would you say, Mr. Not-really-Detective, was I doing okay?”

Connor recognized how your aplomb faded. Not only seemed his opinion to be of importance, furthermore you seemed to lack self-conscious. Without cause. You did very well. So why did your demeanor changed so quickly?

“Definitely," Connor stated with an approving nod, "I had my concerns about how to approach you regarding your absence and your expertise. Though I expected you to be experienced, I also worried that you might have problems to work on your own at first. Even so, you gained trust in your own apprehension and did very well. So don't lose your confidence, Amelia.” Connor evaluated. Your posture eased and the corner of your mouth curled up.

After a time of talking about the case and the weather conditions and how they aggravated your investigation, you were walking right next to him again.

Connor got rid of the restrictive feeling he had at the begin of your conversation. He felt more relaxed. Not comparable to the freedom he felt when talking to Hank or Markus, but it was a start. Now he was able to talk to you more freely.

“Why meters?” he asked, making your head bob up. “Your language is just fine, are you from Canada?”

The Metric System wasn't used often in the USA. His first attempt was Europe, but you had no audible accent.

“Yeah. I moved here when I got the permission to work for the DPD. Since it's not that far from Canada my family was fine with it,” you explained drily.

That was unusual. Why moving into another country to do a job you can do at home as well. He suppressed the urge to analyze the Canadian profile of a detective. He could look it up and would probably find an answer, yet he was here to get to know you 'the old-fashioned way'. In order to know things about you, he had to ask.

“And why moving here instead of staying? It must be different.”

You shrugged. “The crime rate is quite low. It takes some time for a murder to happen in a city. It would be ages until something happened in my hometown. So if I had to move anyway I could just move to Detroit instead.” A chuckle escaped. “And it is different. Americans have quite the way to express themselves. The strong language, the food, the crowded cities and the general attitude are all quiet... different. It took some time to settle in. Except for the mass of people living here the most unpleasant thing were the androids,” you told him unconcerned.

 

 

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the huge delay! 
> 
> My laptop was too dumb to save my files correctly so I ended up having a messy salad of letters. So I had to redo most of it. Especially, when I announced chapter5 to be finished on saturday. Last week. 
> 
> Nevertheless I hope you enjoyed it and we will see each other for the next chapter.


	6. Let's make a list!

February 2nd, 2039  
10:02 am

Telling stories about your artless snowy hometown in Canada and your first time leaving, you and Connor walked down the road.

The cloudy sky brightened up and more and more people crossed your path. The city was awake and you had to dodge one or two passersby, who didn't have their morning coffee yet. Cautiously avoiding any collisions, you kept chatting with Connor, albeit he was less active in this conversation.

He listened carefully to every word you said, but you had the feeling there was something bothering him. Provided, you paused your monologue.

He responded with a nod now and then and gave short inputs like 'I see.' or 'Really?'. Although he did not seem bored or annoyed by your speech, you knew there was something going on.

The doubtful part of you instantly blamed yourself. Was there something you said or did? It couldn't derive from your work as his partner, could it? He just said he was more than satisfied with your participation. But what was it instead?

Pausing your conversation, you took a moment to think. If you were Connor, you'd be discontented because of the dirty clothes or maybe embarrassed through the awkward situation he just had with the store lady.

An alternative would be that he was just tired. After all, it seemed like he had quite some problems with the height before. You'd understand if he felt exhausted after such a trip. Then again you were probably over-thinking, it was your job, though.

You wanted to ask him what's going on but you kept your mouth shut, so you continued the stroll with a funny feeling in your stomach.

After you grew tired of talking about your sleepy birthplace, you both fell into silence. Searching for a topic, you stopped in front of a red street light and waited for the go.

Taking the chance you subtly glimpsed at him. You spend the whole morning together and looked at him frequently as you talked to him, but didn't have the time to really appreciate his facial features.

It was an odd quirk of yours, but you enjoyed to analyze and segment the characteristics of a person. The small things that made one unique.

Connor, for example, was an at first sight a stuffy young man. All spruced up with his suit and how he always had to fix his tie, the slick combed dark hair, his sober way to talk.

Just square.

But when you look closer you notice that his analytic face has soft eyes like melting chocolate. His observing look is full of curiosity, hopping from one attraction to the next and the tidy hairstyle had a frisky strand curling on his forehead.

You liked to ask yourself why people are considered beautiful. The simple answer would be symmetry and the most simple one would be society.

But that's not it. It was more.

So, what made him that handsome? You tilted your head, most likely losing your subtlety, and studied his face.

His jawline drew a soft connection up to his cheekbone building a smooth bridge over his cheek. Radiused long brows framed his beady eyes. And his slender nose and those gently shaped lips formed the appealing profile you were looking at. The characteristics were defined and clean but blending in so smoothly with the rest of his face. Taking.

“Is something wrong?”

You fended off as his clear voice staggered you. Not that he hadn't realized you staring at him.

The light went green.

”No,” you retorted, making it sound like his question was completely unnecessary.

Passing the street you felt your cheeks flush. It must have been so obvious and probably even pushy. Smooth observation was something different. Good work, Detective. Good work. After you reached the sidewalk you dared to raise your head again, to check on his mood.

Unfortunately, he was already viewing you. His head leaned to the side. “Are you sure about that?” he scrutinized with raised eyebrows.

”What about you, Connor?” you ignored his question. You really didn't want to explain your quirk of adoring his handsome face in a geometrical framework, so you made up a new topic.

Lingering to step into the new subject, he blinked. “About me?” he asked skeptically.

He was genuinely surprised that you were asking that question. It wasn't a bare distraction, you were really interested in getting some information about him. A bit of a back-story.

Leaning forth, you placed a cheerful smile on your mouth to get rid of the interpersonal distance between you.

“I kept talking about my stuff all the time. My home, my family, my job. But I know nothing about you. I found out that you are good at leaping over chasms, and that you're not that cool with heights.” You threw your hands up defensively. “That's fine with me! No reason to rack, I'm afraid of driving a car, so we're even.”

You shoved your hands back into your pockets. “Still, I don't even know your last name.”

Connor was focused on the street but peered at you every now and then. He thought about what you just said before replying.

“I'm changing it,” he bluntly said, receiving a 'huh?' from you as a reaction.

“My name will be changed to Anderson, soon. It takes some time, but in some weeks it should be official,” Connor explained.

His attitude slowly changed back into a more comfortable one. You had the feeling he was warming up- what a relief.

The confident expression of him denoted a pinch of anticipation. The name of the Lieutenant would suit him, though it would cause some confusion at the office. Currently, it did not matter what relationship they had. The question that burned on the tip of your tongue right now was different.

“And...,” you felt your way, “what's wrong with the name you had before?” You brushed back a strand of hair.

Again he glanced down at you and focused back on the street. A gloom faintly tinted his mimic.

You really didn't want to push him, so you waited patiently. It takes a good reason to fight through all this paperwork of officially changing your name, right? So it was likely that it was simply a sensitive subject.

Ready to start a new one, you were interrupted by him clearing his throat with a small huff.

“The name I carried back then is a burden,” he started.” It will always remember me of the place I was born and connect me to the expectation placed upon me. If I don't get rid of it, I won't move on and never let go of the things that happened,” he said and you felt how his voice drifted.

Like it was making him... not particularly sad, but you knew this feeling. Not quiet regret and no misery.

If you had to describe it, it would be like the numb feeling of realization after waking up from bad dreams.

This awareness of being alive after you felt yourself … dying.

Why was he in that state?

Silenced, you walked the rest of the way quietly. You wanted to dig deeper, but resisted. It was not your place to meddle. You barely knew him. It was nice that he trusted you enough to already tell you that much.

After 5 minutes you were back in Lieutenant Anderson's car. Settling your seat-belt you glanced at the side mirror and noticed how your hair regretfully had to suffer under the stormy weather.

It wasn't such a big deal when your hair was out of place, but even you had a higher standard than this mess.

  
Letting your hair down, you misused the mirror to readjust the nest the wind has created. Pulling out the few pins and grabbing them with your teeth, you drew your fingers through the strands to untangle them. Meanwhile, Connor made everything ready for take-off.

Fixing the majority of your hair with a clip, you waited for him to turn the key. Nothing happened. Glancing to your side, you saw Connor with the key in the lock. He just had to start the engine, but he hesitated.

“I had no intention in spoiling the mood.” His eyes fixated on the key he held in his hand. ”I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He sounded guilty.

“What? No,” you mumbled through your teeth, still holding the last pin. You placed it back in your hair to give him your full attention. “That's not your fault. I was the one asking, wasn't I?” You ran your fingers through your hair, basically wrecking the effort you made to get it in place.

To lighten up his temper you smirked and said, “Though, I really like to hear more about you, Connor,” with a teasing voice.

You thought about nudging him with your elbow, but you supposed it was a bad idea since he took a bath in the garbage today. Not that you were much cleaner.

Eventually, he started the car and drove off with a rattling noise.

“Maybe next time, Amelia.”

His expression softened and you could have sworn there was a small smile creeping up.

Relieved you leaned back. “I think I have to make a list with all the things we wanna do later,” you mocked resting your head against the window. The glass was cool and your breath painted small clouds on it.

Connor exhaled a faint huff as you watched the figures rushing by the street.

Taking out your phone, you checked on your emails. Of course, there were none. It was 10am, so who would casually send you a message right now? It could be the report, but this will take a while.

Today's technology was on point, yet they didn't manage to schedule their work efficiently. So you still had time to kill.

“Connor?” you sighed deeply, cooling your cheek on the glass, “What are we doing now?”

“I wanted to head home to change my clothes,” he replied without thinking.

Your chin shoved itself on your left hand, resting. The cozy warmth of the car made you tired. Lazily, you moved your eyes to the left “You live with the Lieutenant, right?” A humming confirmed your question.

You hadn't seen the Lieutenant in a while. And talking to him was even longer than 6month ago. Meeting him would be nice, especially since you never really get to know him.

You mostly knew his ticks through stories and rumors. You knew this is not the proper way to forge an opinion about anyone, yet you never took the time to do it right.

Fowler mentioned he was sick for a while now, probably it would bother him if you just appeared at his door, with or without Connor.

You wondered, how his home looked like. How was it furnished? Was it tidy? Most likely not. You noticed the dog smell in the car and on Connor, so what dog did they have? A Terrier or a Labrador? Was it an apartment or a house? In which part of Detroit was he living, anyway? Suddenly the question of their relationship popped back into your head again.

“Would you like to come with me?” he ripped you away from the ideas, your head started to form. “I can bring you home afterwards. I think you could use some fresh clothes, too,” he concluded.

“Wouldn't it bother the Lieutenant? I thought he was sick,” you demurred.

Connor shook his head slightly. “We won't stay for long. He just has to bear with us,” he gloated, turning to you with a smirk.

“Okay, then,” you giggled.

With that, Connor took the next turn and you distanced from mid-town. The buildings got smaller and the streets less crowded. It was still Detroit, but way more quiet than the busy heart.

Appreciating the scenery, you shifted in your seat. You were a bit nervous. The situation reminded you of those days when you had a pajama-party at a friend's house at a young age.

In order to get rid of the stress, you scratched your thumb. You scratched your hand and rubbed your pulse. Your fingers were cold and made you shiver as they touched the warm skin of your underarm.

It felt weird to just sit and say nothing, yet you forgot all the things you wanted to ask Connor before.

He on the other side wasn't affected by the silence at all. He was concentrating on the traffic and that was already enough. You had escapements to buttonhole him, eventually, it was no good to be too deep in conversation.

For that reason, you spend the rest of the tour quietly watching the trees pass by until he stopped in front of a house.

A gruesome noise resonated as he pulled the hand break. That car had seen better days. With the key removed it stopped doddering and you opened the seat-belt. Just like Connor you stepped out and closed the door.

Waiting at the entrance, he watched you considering his home.

It was a bright detached house with a well-maintained white wood paneling, grayish stones lined on the lower part. Left from the house was a garage. A window on each side next to the door.

Surprisingly a harmonical little home.

You expected something darker, less friendly.

Walking over the wet lawn left water-stains on the cuffs of your jeans. Stepping on the stone trail, Connor took the keys and rattled through them to pick the right. Hitting pay dirt, he faced you.

“Don't be afraid,” he reassured you when he placed the key in the lock. Just about to ask why he said that you jolted. Suddenly, a loud bark came from the inside.

Oh, right. The dog.

As he opened the door, he let you go first. The light was turned off and only some of the sunlight shined through the closed curtains. It was way darker than outside, so you needed a moment to get used to it.

A big, panting shadow moved towards you and sniffed your hand. Connor closed the door behind your and knelt down. The big dog turned away from you and greeted his friend with a deep 'Woof'.

Little by little your vision became keen. His paws propped up on Connor's legs and his head snuggled into his collar. With laughter and happiness, Connor rubbed the dog's back and scratched his ears.

“Sumo, stop. Good boy. Good boy,” he laughed shoving away the dogs face. You saw the saliva dripping down Connor's face as the dog licked his cheek. He stood up and patted his fluffy head before turning on the lights.

With the new light source, you acknowledged that the dog was a giant St. Bernard and now he made his way back to you.

Connor started undressing as he flicked the switch in the kitchen as well. An uncertain expression covered your face when the dog, he just called 'Sumo', sniffed at you.

You weren't used to dogs. Your mom had a pet hair allergy so you never had one. In your hometown and in Detroit's street you sometimes met a stray cat, but you can't remember being so close to such a big dog. Carefully, you reached out your hand so he can smell at you.

Giving him an asking look, Connor replied with an encouraging nod. You became braver and knelt down to pat him like Connor just did. Sumo's furry head moved closer to yours and panted in your face.

He was calm and a bit tired in his movements; he must be an old man. But his fur was still soft and his nose poked against your cheek.

He climbed up on you and of a sudden, you felt how heavy he was. He licked your face and before you knew, you tilted backwards. Lying on the floor, this big old Sumo-dog slobbered over your face. You couldn't help but laugh, while you tried to lift him.

“Sumo, be a good dog,” Connor ordered with a serious undertone.

And without further ado he let you alone, waddling into the kitchen. You sat up. “I'm sorry for that. He always gets excited when meeting strangers. He seems to like you,” he said, watching his dog enjoying a sip of water.

You stood up and walked at him, standing in the corridor. “Yeah he is cute,” you said rubbing your sleeve over your saliva-covered cheek. “I think I like him, too,” you quipped, wiping the sleeve down on your jeans.

“I'm glad to hear that,” Connor chuckled, offering you a chair. “I will go and change. Make yourself at home. If you want to drink something, water and orange juice are in the fridge.” He pointed at the refrigerator behind you. ”It won't take too long.”

Obligated to sit, you sat down and unzipped your jacket. “Okay, that's very kind. No need to hurry. Take your time.” You poked around, rolling up your scarf on your lap.

“Sure.” Pulling away his tie, he took off his suit coat and left through the door at the end of the hallway.

You used the wait to sneak around a bit. Thrumming on your thighs, you bent your neck from right to left.

Straight ahead, you had the hallway with three doors, one at each wall. The one in the middle should be Connor's room. One of them could be a bathroom so the other would belong to Lieutenant Anderson.

You were sitting at the kitchen table. In front of you a happy dog, taking a nap on the tiles. Then a simple kitchen unit with some kitchenware and lots of trash, used dishes, and half-empty packaging. The vibes of the Lieutenant's car reflected in his kitchen. Everything was just dropped and stayed there.

Viewing this mess you recalled your own kitchen and shut your mouth.

Standing up, you walked over to the living area to your left. It was bigger than expected. Even a fireplace was attached to the wall.

On a big blue carpet, the couch and an armchair were placed, in front of it a Curve-TV. And the coffee table had a box of Kleenex and a leftover bowl of soup on it, probably for the sick Lieutenant. At the window was a desk with a computer. Additionally, you almost stumbled upon Sumo's bed next to the fireplace and the heating.

It seemed like the beloved home of a family.

One of those picture perfect ones you see in the Christmas-ads. You could almost imagine how it would look on Christmas Eve. All decorated with Advent wreaths and stockings. The fire crackling and garlands pinned to the walls. A tree with gingerbread men and lametta. Fairy lights.

Catching yourself dreaming, you shook your head and drew a circle to regard the pictures at the wall.

Most likely you just had to compensate for not being able to celebrate it last year. You had a video call with your grandma the day before, but you couldn't come home and everyone was busy. You just stayed at home watching your favorite series instead.

Quitting your lament, you turned your attention to the photographs.

Some famous Jazz artists and musicians decorated the wall. You were looking for some family photos. But even after checking every shelve, you found only two picture frames in the large bookshelf behind the couch.

The first one was a young boy. You didn't know him, but you guessed that it was Hank's son. You heard about his death some years ago. After that Lieutenant Anderson became the scruffy man he was today. It was a sad story.

The other one was really cute.

It was taken with the DPD, you recognized the room they rented for parties. A cheerful Chris with a silly hat, a happy Connor with '2039' sunglasses, and a mildly smiling Lieutenant Anderson with a bottle of champagne.

In the back, you recognized some familiar faces and even Gavin's head was hidden in the background.

You remembered that night.

He texted you a lot on this day. He was bummed because his girlfriend was visiting her family on New Year's Eve, basically, we were just sending pictures of funny cats and he recorded a short video where he and Chris sang a bad articulated pop song.

It would have been nice to be there. A broken smile flashed your face.

Out of nowhere, a gruff loud cough barked through the wall. You jolted and quickly placed the frames back on their place. Rushing back at the kitchen, you heard footsteps dragging over the floor.

You crossed your arms and tried to look like someone who not just rifled through his personal belongings.

The door creaked open and a disheveled Lieutenant tramped from the left door into the hallway. To protect his bleary eyes from the bright light, he held his hand above his head. Grumbling swear-words under his breath he scratched his stomach.

His gray shirt looked like he was wearing it for a while now and his ransacked hair was giving the impression that the last shower was some days ago. Pressing his hand to his forehead he stumbled against the door frame. Looked like a headache.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Connor, I thought I made myself clear,” he rubbed his eyes, “when I said you should stay at work,” he coughed.

The Lieutenant turned to you and wiped his eyes one last time. You stood there like the rabbit caught in headlights. His face screwed up and with a hoarse voice he said:

“You're not my son...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stretch like a cat*
> 
> *crawl into bed*
> 
> *sleep til morning*
> 
> I'm still learning your grammar and punctuation.  
> I have to look up so many words and RA9 bless 'dict.cc'.
> 
> 'Slow work with mildly statisfying results' That's my mantra.
> 
> I accepted my fate and will update on the nights of saturday to sunday.(That's now.)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway:  
> Hank's back in the game and we don't feel very welcome at his house. Gladly, we got Connor and Sumo. I will try to take in Sumo more than just once or twice because he's a good boy and we love him. We couldn't attend the cool Police-People-Party but at least we found a cute photo. 
> 
> Did you guessed Connor's old last name? Shouldn't be that hard to figure out but I'd like to know. 
> 
> One last question for you: What character you'd like to read about within the story? Some beloved ships? More good boy's? Tell me, I enjoy reading your comments! :D


	7. All the love I can bear

February 2nd, 2039

10:49

You pressed your tongue against your teeth. Your face was heating up rapidly and you felt how your skin changed into a red. Standing in the hallway of the Lieutenants house both of you stare at each other.

He definitely looked sick. His eyes were reddish and his skin was pale. The bed-style hair and the wrinkled clothes indicated that he was probably sleeping the whole morning. His nose was sniffing and had a dark pink shade, while he had serious problems to stand straight without holding onto the door frame.

Though his weakened condition, he had an overly intimidating effect on you. You were too awed to break the silence. That way you waited for him to stop glaring at you like a criminal. Hopefully, Connor will be ready any minute. He said it won't take long, didn't he?

“What are you doing in my house?” his voice cracked again.

As the highly respected Detective you are, the first thing that came to your mind was the shortened version of your work with Connor and that you wait for him. Maybe some interesting and catching phrases to keep him attentive.

You could have done that.

Instead, a clever-sounding and on top of this loud, “Euhm!” blobbed out your mouth.

His reaction was an even deeper frown than he had before.

First impression: Check!

“I-I am his, Connor's, new partner. Temporarily!” you stuttered. “Just until you're at full health again, Lieutenant.” He seemed to listen but made no attempt to reply. His angry face seemingly eased.

“We already met before,” you scratched your wrist, “It's been a while. My name is Amelia Rockland.” You hesitated but decided to take a step forward with a stretched out a hand to greet him.

All you got in return was a hearty cough into the crook of his arm. Slowly taking back your hand you reoriented yourself at the kitchen table.

“Connor is currently changing in his room,” you took off your jacket, “While we were at the latest crime scene, he got his clothes soiled, so he wanted to change his attire before going back to the office.” You placed the jacket on a chair. “He should be ready any second.”

Standing in silence again your and his eyes wandered around and he stopped by regarding your clothes.

“And you?” With slightly squished eyes and crinkled brows he obviously noticed something that was confusing him. “What's wrong with your pants?” his chin pointed at your legs.

You looked down at yourself and saw the traces of blood in the shape of a handprint on your jeans. It wasn't new for you that the blood Connor had on his hand got on your clothes.

However, the fact how clear his hand was printed on your thigh, was.

“Oh yeah,” you brushed over the still clean side of the fabric. “Connor examined the murder victim and got some blood on his hands. He is quite unusual. It scared me a bit at first but he did a good job in the end-”

“And why is it on you?” he inquired with a confused face. His eyes pierced through you. “Say, kid. How long do you know each other?” he added after a second.

“What?” you realized the ambiguity of it. “No. Wait no!” You waved your hands. “We sneaked onto the roof before- “

Anderson raised a brow.

“A-And it was slippery.-”

His eyes showed a pinch of fear.

“A-And he held me and-”

You cut off yourself before you made it even worse.

Letting down your arms, a deep capitulating sigh ended your weak attempt to explain the red on your jeans. “I surrender. Forget it.”

You received a poor laugh from the Lieutenant. Crossing his arms he leaned against the wall.

He wanted to say something but after the first croaky syllable the Lieutenant pronounced, he stopped and started to frequently 'clear his throat', though it sounded more like an old TV recording of a rhino trying to sing an opera without opening its mouth.

Regarding the length of his cough, you prepared a glass of water and gave it to him. Accepting with a nod, he emptied the glass and calmed down again.

You returned to the kitchen and placed the glass on the table. Standing behind the chair, Connor offered to sit before, you stroked over the banged-up leather of your jacket, waiting for him to calm down.

Once he ended to hawk, he looked up to you again and hummed, “Wait. You are this girl- this girl from the summer-accident...”

The moment you heard his voice fell into condolence the blood froze in your veins.

Your fingers trenched into the jacket and you immediately dropped your gaze. All the word of empathy just reminded you of things you didn't want to think of any more.

The worst was to see the faces of people who pity you. They feel sorry for you and want to help, but they can't. So they feel helpless and hence the only thing left is words. Comforting words or words of regrets. The more they talk about it the worse it gets. You knew they meant well, however it didn't help.

“You have my sympathy. I'm sorry what happened,” the Lieutenant and the people before him apologized for something they didn't have a part in.

Their sympathy was welcomed, though the results often … You were not the kind for warm phrases to heal your wounds. Especially the bad ones.

He scratched his neck and looked away. He was nice and he meant it, but it was more awkward than if he just had scoffed a low 'Ah, shit... yeah. That sucks.' That way you stood there in his kitchen and he in his door frame, waiting for the tense air to vanish.

Heat shot through your cold veins.

The door to Connors room opened and the mood changed. He was now dressed in a similar slick suit, like the one he wore before. It was a dark blue suit with a new white dress shirt. Around his neck hung a loose tie. Stopping in the door, he fixed his tie and barely paid attention to you. Lazily scanning the hallway he looked up to Hank before continuing to adjust his clothes.

“Oh, you're awake,” he mumbled. “I brought some medicine. We almost ran out.” He stroked over the fabric with his now cleaned hands.

He grabbed a small towel and the dirty clothes lying to his left and walked into the last room in the hallway. He opened the door and revealed a small bathroom, where he placed the clothes on the small cupboard.

“Oh thanks,” the Lieutenant huffed. “And why are you ruining my towels, kid?” he grunted watching him fiddling in the bathroom.

"Your laundry is already a mess, Hank. Why bother?" it came through the room.

Flummoxed you listened to their little conversation. That was sassy.

"Maybe you should try cleaning it from time to time. You can't wear this shirt forever.” Connor walks out the hallway and enters the kitchen.

"Yeah?" the Lieutenant grunts. "Watch me. And you could clean the kitchen 'from time to time'. I am still sick,” he argued.

Connor took the glass you placed on the table before and filled it with water. Then he took the packing from the drug store and spilled a white pill into his palm.

"I bought your medicine so you can sleep through the night.” He walked back to the Lieutenant and offered him the glass of water and the pill. “That's all the love I can bear for you for today,” he commented cynically.

Anderson accepted both and took a sip from the water. Walking back, Connor came over to you and took your jacket from the chair-back.

“Not since you just hang off when I asked for your well-being. I was worried," he sulked.

“You locked away all my booze!” the Lieutenant hissed back.

Connor lifted up your jacket and held it up so you just had to slip in. “Don't be like that,” he rebuked his friend.

When you had put on your jacket you thanked Connor for the nice act, though it was too silent to be comprehensible.

It daunted you to be an outsider in an argument like this. It felt even more awkward than Anderson saying he's sorry. You just hoped they don't pull you into their conversation. If possible you wanted to avoid picking a side.

It reminded of a mom-and-son-discussion. Connor leaned down to pat Sumo who just woke up to the sound of the two grunting.

“And what's the plan for today, son?” Hank seemingly calmed down very quickly.

Connor replied with a brief summary of your day and that you'll go for the reports after stopping by at my place.

The Lieutenant wished good luck and walked back into his room. As he moved, he flinched and grabbed his head. You were just glad that your headache from this morning was gone. A friendly goodbye and you left the house of him and Connor.

\-----------------------

“Is he -,” you took care to find the right words, “always... like that?” you asked Connor as you two made your way down to your apartment. In the end, you had dirt on your clothes, too.

“You mean Hank?” Connor responded, watching the traffic.”Yeah, but it depends. Momentarily he's just gloomy because he can't work. He needs his job to keep up his life balance. But before that, he needs to be patient and take his time to get better.”

You heard a breath of worry in his voice. It must have been a lot for Connor to take care of his grumpy... friend?

“Uhm, Connor?” you started the new subject. “Lieutenant Anderson referred to you as his son before. How can I understand that? You aren't related, are you?”

Connor chuckled. “Ah, no. At least not biological. He developed into some kind of a father for me. It's a really long story,” he explained.

“Let me guess,” you rolled your eyes with a smile.” You will tell me when we got the time for it.”

Connor drove on a parking place behind your apartment house and faintly laughed.

“Yeah, something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapter will be added through the day. ;)


	8. Just here to paparazzi

February 2nd

11:35am

Detroit Police Department

You knocked with your head on the table. Your arms sloppily hang down to your feet as you crouched on the chair at your desk.

It was impossible to concentrate.

There was no special kind of distraction but a whole lot of lacking motivation. Fidgeting with the seam of your socks, you simply swayed from right to left. A bright white screen bedazzled your poor, sleepy eyes.

The ride back from your apartment was too much. It was so warm in the car, and though you couldn't fall asleep while driving, you felt your eyes getting so tired. When you and Connor went to your place, you hurried to change, so he doesn't have to wait longer than necessary.

Your apartment was so untidy, it was too embarrassing to let him in, but he was okay with waiting in the car. Probably he was doing this coin thing.

After getting some fresh clothes and brushing your hair, you and Connor made your way back to the DPD. And now you had to deal with the most annoying part of your job.

Paperwork.

It was okay to write the report. The basic scenery and what happened, yet you couldn't stand to explain the ideas you had.

Telling people what you think in person results in a direct response, writing a report on the other side will never give you a real reaction ever.

You just hand it in and will never see it again. That way it was like it just vanished after you're done.

This hollowness caused poor motivation. It got tricky when you came to the part with your less mature actions, albeit they always are founded on a deduction.

Let's just say that was not the first day you climbed up a roof without allowance.

You just finished the deduction part and now you had to find an explanation why it was not possible to wait for experts to examine the rooftop. You read the last few sentences of your text over and over again hoping to concentrate better that way.

The dull noise that rung through the construct as your forehead clashed with the table said: it wasn't working.

The lack of interest was enormous.

You could even stare at the structure of that paper note laying next to you for a whole day. You rested your head on your temple and regarded the fabrics and small fibers and how the dust rose from the block. The blue lines, where the pen pressed the ink onto the notepad, left small sinkings in the paper.

Letting out a deep sigh, blew the note off the table.

Lethargically you sat up and cupped your hand for your head to rest. You read over the text once more. As you read over the part where Connor performed the unexpected autopsy, your eyes wandered over to his desk.

The desk was empty. Wondering where he could have gone, you assumed that he was taking a break or just wandering around. Looked like he was more committed than you, and already finished his report long ago.

You sat here for a solid hour putting it off for as long as possible. It would be better to just get it done. You could take a break too. Ask Gavin to eat some lunch. But you sat here chewing the old Mentos you found in your pocket.

After another boring hour, you finished your stupid text and almost fell asleep on the spot.

Just a moment before you drifted off a bright light and a clicking noise woke you up again. Darting up in shock, you squished your eyes. When you looked out for the source of your surprise, you heard a rogue laugh coming from your right. A larking Detective was holding up his phone and chuckled at his screen.

"Why~," you moaned rubbing your eyes.

Gavin tapped on his screen "Don't worry. I'll send this piece of art to you." He put away the smart-phone and walked behind your chair, placing his hands on your shoulders. "Miss Detective gets sleepy at noon?" He spun your chair around and you began to laugh as he joggled you.

“Stop,” you snorted holding back a laugh. “I'm awake. I'm awake,” you panted.

Satisfied Gavin cackled and stopped shaking you around in your office chair.

Stroking back your hair you giggled.“You're awful.”

He sat down on your desk. “You're just too delicate,” he teased.

“In the first place, I'm hungry. Want to go and eat something?”

“Nah, sorry. Just here to paparazzi,” he waved with his phone. “I have observation-duty today. There is a hot spot for dealers so I will just...,” he sighed, ”sit there. And I will wait and take photos.”

In the exact moment, he said 'photos' a bright flash hit your eyes. He hopped around and took countless photos of you in every single angle. Laughing, you tried to grab his phone but the light was giving him an edge.

“Stop it! Gavin!” you snickered with a spark of annoyance.

He eventually stopped and peered over his phone. You opened your eyes again and looked over to him. At the exact second, you were blinded by another flash. You just heard him chuckle.

“Amelia.”

Connor's voice made the both of you look up. He stood in front of your table watching you with his hands crossed behind his back.

“I was informed that the test results have arrived. We are requested to meet in the interrogation room #2 for further information,” he stated stoically.

His stance was as stiff as before and you felt the mood change. Gavin's smile faded promptly and he turned up. He stared at Connor with a dark expression but Connor ignored him and faced you, waiting for a reply.

“Oh yeah okay.” You turned to Gavin. “See you later,” you waved and wanted to follow Connor but he grabbed your hand.

With a pissed face, he looked at you. “You're working with that bastard?” he hissed.

Seeing him bubble with wrath scared you shortly. But it was only his bad temper, nothing to be afraid of. Placing your hand on his, he let go of you.

You glanced back to Connor who stopped and waited. Peering over his shoulder, he listened to your interaction.

You turned back to Gavin. “We will talk about this later,” you reassured him and went ahead.

Without looking back you followed Connor into the interrogation room. The light was off and at the table, one other officer casually leaned back in his chair watching the room next door through the one-way mirror. As he noticed you, he sat straight and handed Connor a file without another word.

You two skimmed the text. Apparently the leather gloves Connor fished out the dumpster belonged to a certain Jacob Cavalliero.

Briefly summarized, they found some of his skin scales on the inside of the torn leather. They brought him here and want to interrogate him now. Currently, he is a murder suspect.

“And that's him?” you ask the officer, pointing through the mirror. In the room sat another officer talking to a young man with deep purple dyed hair in his 20's. The officer affirmed.

You leaned on the table and viewed him. His skin was pale and his face was buried under his frizzy hair. His diffident posture indicated to a shy personality. His hands were tidily placed on the silver table and his shoulders hung, his face turned to the ground.

The officer started the interrogation protocol and asked him to state his name. He just replied with a soft, nearly weak voice.

"If you ask me, I don't believe such a sissy boy could end another man's life," the officer next to you scoffed.

Disregarding the insult, he was right that he didn't have the killer vibes you would expect. Nevertheless, there is not the one and only type of killer. Murder is a task only the most rotten and distressful creatures do. A twisted mind and an extraordinary personality are nothing unusual when it comes to murder.

"At least not like a drug addict..." Connor adds.

He was right. An addict develops ticks when he is in a stress situation. Normally like scratching or twitching. But he was calm as a gentle river. Obviously nervous and a bit anxious.

You could hardly blame him for that.

It's mostly avoided to tell people what is exactly going on here. Police officers and detectives tend to skip the introduction.

They hope to get more honest and reliable information, without any made up stories. Dumb tactic. If a person wants to make up a plausible story they just need to be convincing. Acting emotions mostly works. Avoiding to enlighten the suspect just leads to a really stressed testimony. And a stressed testimony is full of holes and left out facts because they are under pressure.

After recording Mr. Cavalliero's profile, the officer left the room. Now the poor man sat there and waited.

It was understandable that he was nervous. Every person who ever watched any criminal movie knows that there are people who can't put together the puzzle in the right order and accuse the wrong person.

So a citizen who did nothing wrong, except to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, gets suspected or even arrested. Though the law says that everyone's innocent until proven otherwise.

"Okay Sir, you can go in now," the officer addressed Connor as he entered the room. "Please take your time."


	9. There is no surname

February 2nd, 2039  
1:08 pm

 

The room was as cold as you remembered it. Dark walls, a plain silver table, unnatural neon lights and the silent humming of electricity through the walls.

Connor placed his hand on the control panel and locked the door. You walked over to the suspect. You spared a glance over to the one-sided mirror, knowing that the officers watched you through it.

“Hello, Mr. Cavalliero. My name is Connor and this is my partner Amelia,” Connor introduced you and offered you a chair. Sitting down, you gave the young man a weak smile, in return the corner of his mouth twitched up for a blunt second.

His hands were placed stretched out on top of the table, fingers repeatedly pulling up the sleeves of his black pullover. He was nervous. Despite the discomfort to be here, he seemed like a relatively calm young man.

Connor browsed through the report files as soon as he sat down. Waiting for him to be ready, you watched the suspect's face shifting around like it was anything interesting to see, except the gray walls and the flickering neon lights.

“Mr. Cavalliero, do you know why the DPD asked you to come here?” you asked staidly.

Your words pulled Connor away from his files and made him look over to you, then to the young man.

Cavalliero glimpsed up. “No, Miss,” he said low. “But please call me Jacob. Mr. Cavalliero is my father.”

Your lips curled up and you took the folder, Connor read over a moment ago, and looked for the right page. Opening the evidence record, you turned the file around so Jacob could look at it.

“This morning we found those gloves cut to pieces in a dumpster near a crime-scene,” you explained. Jacob leaned forth to regard the photography with a concentrated expression.

“Do you recognize them, Jacob?” Connor inquired.

After giving it a thought Jacob looks up. “You think they belong to me, right?” he pointed at the picture. “I think I actually own a similar pair... Though it's hard to say since they're...,” he waved with his palm over the umpteen parts of leather, “-you know.”

That was at least something. That was good.

You glimpsed over to Connor who sat up straight with folded hands to listen to Jacobs words. His eyes weren't moving. Locked to his interrogation they even rarely blinked. You had the feeling that the murder suspect was more chill than your partner.

“May I ask where you found them?” Jacob awkwardly interrupted you staring at your partner.

Feeling caught, you coughed slightly and turned back around. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. It, eh , it was found in a side street at the Cass Avenue."

Bustling through the folder, you showed him the approximate location. Jacob looked at the map, displayed on the digital file, where a red squared marked the backyard.

Jacob wrinkled up his nose. “No, I am sorry. I've never been in that area before. I'm mostly around the University campus. But I can't remember walking around in that part of Detroit.”

Analyzing his face, you could tell that he wasn't lying. He made an honest impression and it was hard to believe that he was the one you were looking for. Yet you had rock solid evidence that tied him to this case.

There must be some useful information.

Wiping your palm over your face, you considered trying out something you haven't done in a long time.

“Anyone you lent them? Maybe a friend or a roommate? Someone who had access to your personal belongings?” Connor pressed further.

“Euhm-,” Jacob sighed and ruffled through his purple hair. “I actually don't think so. I wasn't wearing them that much within the last weeks... And I don't have roommates or any friends who visit me. My apartment is way too small for my friends to hang out. The only person who's recently been to my place would be... my girlfriend?” his voice dropped at the end.

Connor's brows raised. “Could you tell us the name of your girlfriend?”

“...Anna," Jacob murmured.

“Surname?”

“She-,” he looked at the mirror to his side, ”-doesn't have one. She's an android.” His head sunk low.

He had to force himself to say those words. Now he avoided eye-contact. You felt a heavy pressure pressing down at your chest. Jacob's hands held onto the aluminum table and his jaw clenched.

“Okay, and which model? Or her series number, if you know.” Connor had no intention to react to Jacob's sudden mood.

His face lost all its color.

“Don't you dare to even think about it,” he spat. “I know what people like you do with her kind.” His hands clenched together until his knuckles turned white. “Don't think I'll just let you dissemble her. She's more than just plastic.”

He gazed at Connor. His voice was as silent as before, yet it was heating up with wrath.

”what?” you breathed, ”no.”

You didn't know much about the androids from Detroit but you surely remembered the curfew of the November the 11th. Humans were forbidden to leave their houses and every place was filled with heavily armed soldiers. To think of the androids and the fright of being caught and destroyed. You never thought about that. Your stomach tightened.

”Jacob please calm down,” Connor searched Jacob's eyes, ”We mean no harm to your girlfriend. I understand, you want to protect her, but we just want to talk.” Jacob's hands relaxed. “The Detroit Police did some inexcusable things to androids, we know that. But believe me that my partner and I have no bad intentions.”

Though you could sense anger in his eyes, he eventually settled and shifted in his chair. His hands unclenched and he leaned back. As his sleeves rolled up a bit, you noticed small red marks on his wrists, but as soon as you saw them, Jacob pulled the fabric over it again.

“And what now, Sir?” he asked with an undertone ruffling his hair.

Connor paused for a moment.

“Does she own a phone, is there a number we can call?”

“Yeah, I can give it to you...” he fiddled with the seam of his sleeve. “Momentarily she won't answer it. You could try to catch her in the afternoon.”

Jacob dictated the phone number. You were surprised that he knew it by heart. You were actually proud if you could tell your own number correctly.

The officers on the other side of the mirror would now enter the name 'Anna' to the lists of suspects. Your mind wandered off.

If Anna would be the one who took them from him, the whole thing would be reflected in a new light. The gloves carried not only the DNA of Jacob, but they also showed remains of Donald O'Sullivan's blood, too.

So whoever had them at the time, should be your killer. Your only lead was that the gloves you found contained Jacobs DNA, yet it was no solid proof that he was a murder. At least not if you wanted to do it right.

“Thank you, Jacob. Nevertheless, we would like to hear what you did last night?”

"Yes, sure."

Within the next minutes, Jacob told us how he was guest at a birthday party, his friend celebrated at a karaoke bar. The bar was called 'Blue Jazz', and we could ask the owner for an alibi. Her name was Courtney. Furthermore, he had his friends and several other guests of that location to verify his testimony.

So he weren't there at the time of death. While Jacob and Connor talked about his alibi, you tried to plan your next step.

So there's the murder of O'Sullivan near Cass Avenue, drug theft and a carpet knife.

A person who could climb over the slippery roof. Android's had no trouble walking over it, so Anna would at least make sense in that relation. Yet you had no real trouble to cross it either, and Jacob seemed physically fit enough to make it, as well.

Then the gloves cut to pieces with Jacob's DNA on it. If it was not him, and that's what it looked like, then someone had to take them away from him, so either they just needed some leather gloves, or they tried to make Jacob responsible?

“Is there anything you'd think could be helpful to us? Anything you maybe forgot to tell us?” You folded your hands. Jacob's eyes wandered off, letting all of you wait a while.

Connor intervened when he wasn't answering for some time. “You can call anytime you remember anything,” 

Jacob nodded. Making sure that was everything, you explained that another officer will guide him out any moment then he had to sign some papers and leave his contact details for further questioning. With that, he should be able to leave the department soon.

You took your leave and walked out of the interrogation room.

\--------------------------------------------------------

With Connor following, you made your way to the kitchen. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you subconsciously prepared a cup of coffee.

Drinking it in one solid go reminded you of the downgrade Gavin told about. Choking on the terrible hot brew, you abandoned the cup into the depth of the trash bin. Wiping your mouth you noticed Connor standing next to you, an amused smile graced his face.

“That bad?” he chuckled.

“Like you boil up a muddy puddle,” you mutter under your breath.

Rubbing your hands over your face you hear Connor bustling through the kitchen. When you opened your eyes he held out a cup of fresh water for you.

Glimpsing up you breathe an exhilarated 'thank you' and accepted the offer.

While you were drowning out the lingering taste of the bad coffee, Connor sat at the counter next to you. Holding on to your cup you looked up to him.

“And now?”

Connor's eyes rested at the main hall. “I think we should check on the bar he talked about... And later on, we call his girlfriend...,” he murmured absently.

Your gaze followed his line of sight to see what was distracting him like that.

Stepping around him you caught out Gavin, attempting to quickly act suspiciously unsuspicious when he saw you. Spuriously he wiggled his pen and read over his computer with exaggerated interest.

With rolling eyes, you faced Connor who now lowered his head to meet your own eyes. Puppy-eyed he watched you rubbing the back of your nose in annoyance.

“I'm sorry, Connor. He's just-,” you scratch the back of your head, “Just ignore him. He's just a grown up 8-year-old..." 

His tightened shoulders shrugged with a sigh. “An 8-year-old who's entitled to carry a gun.” A pinch of humour was shimmering through his voice.

Laughing, you crossed your arms in front of you, and you both looked over to Gavin's desk. Without your supervision he now leaned back in his chair, feet resting on the table, and typed into his smartphone.

“I understand that he probably annoys you, but he's a good guy. And a good detective,” you concluded turning back to the kitchen.

Gavin had always enjoyed teasing his colleagues, but the anger you witnessed when he found out you work with Connor was more than just joking around. Was it too much testosterone or did they had a story together?

“Of course, he can be stupid, but what happened that you two don't …,” your wrist drew circles as you searched the right word.

“Agree with each other?” Connor guessed.

“...yeah.” That was definitely a smoother word for it than you had in mind.

Connor walked past you and made his way into the hall. You followed, waiting for an answer. Eventually, he turned to you and started off:

“When I was new, we had a really bad start. He wasn't fond of me being a part of the investigation. Luckily we rarely bumped into each other. But whenever we met I had to deal with some comments. When my first case was closed, the structure of the DPD was rearranged and with that, we barely run into each other and the situation lightened up. We're still far away from becoming friends, but at least he stopped directly confronting me,” he told you while walking to his desk.

“Do you know a reason for it?” You could hardly think of Gavin attacking a coworker without any motivation.

A bar- fight, hell yeah. But a colleague at the office?

Connor briefly cleaned the Lieutenant's desk, shoving all of his stuff to the side.

“I-,” a frown marked his forehead, “I don't think so.”

“I can talk to him, you know? Maybe we can clear this up.” You helped him and piled the CD's spread over the Lieutenant's place.

"I would prefer you not to. I appreciate the offer, but please don't rebuke him for 'being not nice to me'," Connor gave you a faint smirk before continuing to clean up the desk.

It took you a moment, but then you kept going as well. '30 years of Metal 1990-2020- Mix' was the title of the last CD in your hands. You knew that the Lieutenant listened to aggressive music, you heard it blasting through his headphones whenever you walked by.

Your mind dragged you back to the moment of the radio-jumpscare from this morning.

Was it still lasting from the Lieutenant? Fowler implied that he was sick for several days. He probably hadn't used the radio for some days. So was Connor into that kind of music, too?

You spared a glance over at him. He and his fresh suit were rummaging through Anderson's desk. The suspicion of him being less inhibited than you originally thought slowly manifested.

“You can use Hank's desk."

Your head jumped up.

"I will be right over here,” Connor showed you his own, and your old table. “That way it will be easier to communicate,“ he recommended.

“Okay, thank you." You nodded. "I'll check on the karaoke bar and you can call the android girlfriend if you like.” You sat at the table and opened the report files. Searching for 'Blue Jazz Detroit', you dialed the telephone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob has crazy hair and he and his girlfriend had to go through the terrible experience of the android hunt.  
> Gavin is shirking his responsibilities to piss off Connor.  
> And Hank will be confused why his desk is so tidy.
> 
> Hope you liked it :) Next chapter will be there as fast as possible! I'm gonna continue writing right away. 
> 
> I was looking forward to the next chapter for quite some time now and I'm eager to start it :D
> 
> Side note: Proud owner of an old rusty Renault now (Confetti!) and as a sign of her appreciation, my cat peed on my blanket. Right. in front. my eyes. 
> 
> Savage cat.


	10. Glitter and dark cozy places

February 2nd, 2039  
6:40pm

The street you walked down was scruffy and muddy from the rain last night. It wasn't hard to see that you weren't in the high-class of Detroit. Even through the darkness, you could see all the rundown buildings lining up in a row.

The deeper you walked into the place, the darker it got. Only a single street light and the faint light of the neon signs from one or two shops guided you slightly into a direction. The street was made of sordid asphalt with many holes and bulges. The sidewalk was just a withered stripe of lawn.

This time you were alone. Connor was paying Anna a visit and you were going for the karaoke bar. You thought going by train would work out, anyhow you had no idea how far away the nearest stop was. At the end of the road, you finally saw something that looked like the place you were looking for.

A big neon sign with 'Blue Jazz' written on it in red letters, blinked on the roof of a building. With a flickering, the lights went out from time to time. The building looked as scruffy as the street itself. As you neared the ruins of a bar, the first people appeared.

\-------earlier-------

“It's me, what do you want?” it grunted through the receiver. You pulled it away from your ear. What kind of attitude was that?

“Good day, Madame. It's the Detroit Police Department. I'd like -”

“The Police? For fuck's sake, what do you want?” A snarky lady hissed.

Distressed by the enormous lack of reverence you bit your cheek. Straightening your back you set a stern expression and growled into the receiver.

“Madame I have to request a bit more respect. We need your cooperation.”

You could hear her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Oh my god. You're so stiff,” her sigh was intended for you to hear. “Then spill the beans, honey bun. What do you need?”

That woman was already getting on your nerves.

“Can you verify the attendance of a certain Jacob Cavalliero last night? He has purple hair and is-” The irreverent lady interrupted you again.

“Ohh..,” she purred like a kitten, “Jacob?” You heard naughty laughter echoing through the phone. “Yeah he and those sweet cheeks were here...,” she drifted off. You suddenly felt like you called a Hotline for adults.

You blinked several times before you could say anything. “Madame, we have to request you to testify his attendance for the last night at your Club. If you could be so kind to pay the DPD a visit it would help our investigation, and in addition to that it would exonerate Mr. Cavalliero.” Keeping up your grave cop attitude, you waited for a response.

“Uggh..,” she groused. “I'm sooo super duper sorry, honey bun. But I can't leave. It's gonna be jam-packed this evening, so I can't come over~” She pouted and played seductively with her feminine voice. It sounded entirely different than the dock-worker grunting she offered you at first when she answered the phone.

“Madame, I hope you are aware that this is a serious matter,” you called upon her sense of duty.

“Of cou~rse!” the way she said it made clear that she wasn't taking it seriously. “Listen, I wasn't the only one who saw him yesterday. Several other people here can confirm. Why don't you just come over so we can get cutie pies butt out of trouble?” She cheered over her idea.

You had less interest in heading over to the club. Since Jacob said it was quite a way, you hoped to make her come to you. Nevertheless, though the girl made a rather simple impression, her and the testimony of her colleagues would be useful to ease your mind about Jacob's innocence. If they can free him from being a suspect you had to accept reluctantly.

“Madame, I'd-”

“You can come over and ask around! Courtney surely won't mind,” she chirped.

“But N-”

She gave you no occasion to speak.

“Okay, then it's a deal! Come over at around 8? Oh, and please,” she hissed through her teeth,” leave the sexy uniform and the fancy car at home. Casual, please. Our guests will be startled if they see some cop snooping around.”

The second you thought you had a chance to speak again was the moment she hangs up. Peevishly you pressed the phone back into the charging base. That was not the exact way you expected it to go.

She seemed content in her words. Must feel good to force your will upon the police. Being cheeky was one thing, but this impudence was something new. But you couldn't say you didn't like her at all. She was something else than the rest of the people you talked to. Not hateful, but not servile either.

You turned to your computer to search for the address of the 'Blue Jazz' club. ...8pm she said.

\-------now-------

Jumping up the stairs, you passed a group of people taking a smoke. They worked here, too. Black shirts and uniform baseball caps told you that. Large hands and weals showed hard work. They must be the setup guys.

Holding your breath to not inhale the smoke, you hurried to open the door. A shining face came your way as you entered the poorly, but atmospheric enlightened hallway.

“Oh hello Deary!” The young lady stood right next to the door waiting for someone. Leaned against the wall so she could see anyone walking in and out.

Her hair was golden and lovely, flashy makeup and her glittering outfit made her fit into the glam hall just too well. You expected it to be more filthy.

“Are you the police lady?” she beamed pushing away from the wall.

This pretty woman was the girl you talked to at the phone? You recognized the voice, but you were a bit off guard. Still a bit baffled, you needed a second to focus.

You returned a smirk and gave her a nod. “Detective Rockland, glad that we could agree on this.” You raised a hand to greet her and she took both hands to cup yours.

“Honeybun, you're so pretty! I expected someone way older and less cute on the phone. You can call me Janice,” her smile reached up to her glimmering eyes. You resisted returning the 'compliment'. Gesturing down the hall, you gave her an asking look.

“Shall we look for a place to talk calmly?”

“Yeah of course!” Eagerly she bolted ahead on her high-heels and lead you through the hallway.

A fancy small hallway, almost ritzy. Of course, it was not as expensive as it looked like. But nonetheless impressive. Someone put quite the effort into making it look that way. A golden shimmer gleamed over the walls.

“I'll bring you to Courtney. That way no one will disturb us,” she chirped and glanced at you over her shoulder.

She brought you to a large room which appeared to be the main part of this location. It had a different atmosphere. Bright lights illuminated a small stage where some guys were installing the equipment for the evening.

The expected karaoke-projector and a microphone weren't missing here.

But the … cozy interior conveyed the impression that it was not just a regular sing-along-bar. Lots of comfy sofas and one or two side-stages. Also, you saw a bunch of equally sparkling dressed boys and girls walking by. Everyone was busy carrying boxes and preparing everything for the evening.

In the back of the room was a small corridor where she guided you to the big door at the end.

Some doors were wide open so you could peer in by walking by. One had another platform in the middle with dimmed lights. Another one was full of employees, getting ready.

A bitter smell kicked into your nose. You recognized multiple perfume brands. You slowly got an idea of what kind of place that was.

“So just a regular karaoke-bar, huh?” you joked scanning the area.

Janice just turned her head over her shoulder and gave you a mischievous smile. With that she cat-walked in her shimmering dress to the end of the corridor. Waiting for her to let you in, you turned around another time to inspect the place.

Janice was adjusting her outfit and hair, then she started to pull around at your clothes like she was your mother. Obviously she wanted to make good impression on whoever waits behind that door.

Indignantly you cleared your throat as she grabbed your hood and laid it tidily around your neck. Not bothered by it at all, she simply gave you a smile and brushed your hair behind your ear.

“Are we done?” you said with an undertone, knowing it won't reach her.

Her marble-like eyes observed your face. Like a cat observing the rain at the window. It was uncomfortable if some stranger dressed in glitter gave you cute nicknames, touched your clothes and now came way to close to your face. You felt like a doll.

It's not that you had to solve a murder or anything.

“You have a beautiful face,” she murmured.

What?

Her head tilted from right to left examining the details of your face. You felt blood rushing up to your head. Why- What just happened?

“We could make a lot out of you! I can give you some advice if you want. Some framing, some highlighter, maybe some mellow colors for your lips..,” she reached for your face but you gently grabbed it before she touched your skin.

“Miss Janice, I'm here to work. I appreciate the well-meant advice, but why don't we just talk to Courtney?” You put on your friendly-serious face.

The friendly-serious face was the one where you purposely leave your eye's hard, but your lips curl up. Gavin called it 'wet-sock-face' because that would be the face he would wear if his socks were wet.

Janice ogled you for some seconds before beaming again. “Okay, honeybun!”

She knocked and a smokey voice answered. Janice opened the door and glanced in.

“Courtney, this is Miss Detective Rock. She's the one that called before,” she introduced you with her head politely facing the ground. Obviously, she had more respect for this Courtney than she had for the police.

...She got your name wrong.

“Okay, then come in Miss,” the husky voice echoed through the room. The door opened so you took a big step in and Janice closed the door behind you. Ready to greet her you reached out your hand and looked up to her.

 

Good grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Janice is a bit too bold when it comes to touching people. But she seemed to remember Jacob being at the Blue Jazz last night. Whatever we will find in the testimony of the employees, this place is more than it looked like at the first place. What's up with Courtney? 
> 
> The first day of the Detective was a long one and slowly comes to an end. 
> 
> The actual chapter will be split up into 3-4 chapters. This way I don't have to write so long chapters. 
> 
> Part one of "The first evening" (Not a good title, but IT IS the first evening after being a Detective at work again, sooo)
> 
> Next Chapter Connor will be back.


	11. The man with a hat

February 2nd, 2039

8:07pm

In her manicured hands she held the tablet you brought. Courtney was tapping on the screen to enter her name and personal information. Formalities were somewhat burdensome but necessary.

The silent moment gave you an opportunity to look at the paradise bird of a woman, you had the pleasure to be with right now.

Her face was excessively contoured and highlighter glimmered over her cheekbones. Big fake lashes and a murderous eyeliner made her look like a fantasy goddess. You couldn't say if you were confused or fascinated. You were more of a natural type. But you couldn't help but stare. Like a firework. Not to mention her extraordinary height. Thanks to her High-Heels she was like over 2 meters.

A content smile appeared on her lips.

She noticed you watching her.

A laugh hummed from her throat as she returned the tablet to you. She folded her hands on the wooden surface of the desk.

"Thank you." You swiped over the screen and opened a special recording app. "If we could start the statement now." Rearranging in your seat you mentally prepared for the recording.

"As you wish," the husky voice of her imitated your own serious one.

You pressed on a red icon for the recording to start.

“February the 2nd,” you checked the time on your phone, ”8:10 pm. Blue Jazz Club. My name is Detective Amelia Rockland, I'm recording the witness report of two civilians concerning the last night's whereabouts of Jacob Cavalliero. We will start with the first witness. Please state your name,” you direct an encouraging nod towards Courtney.

She cleared her throat. “Courtney Star.”

“Miss Star, you are aware that a voluntary misstatement is obstruction of justice and will be prosecuted?”

“Yes.”

“Then please start your statement.”

"If I remember correctly, Jacob Cavalliero entered our establishment at around ten in the evening. They had a birthday to celebrate and booked a table for 7, a solid month ago. At nights like this the Blue Jazz can get indeed crowded. Janice was the one who guided them to their table. They were quite a lively group of young people. I guess they were students maybe a bit older. Mister Cavalliero and his friends had lots of cocktails. They left in the early morning."

"Could I please look at that reservation you're talking about? Who was the one that called you?" you asked politely.

"Oh a,"- she swiped through a tablet of her own. The case was glittery and shiny. After skipping through several folders she found what she was searching for and presented them to you. A document with tables and lots of names.

"Right there," her stylish fake nails marked a certain line. "Kenneth Ivory. He was the one celebrating."

The table held the name, the booked time: 22:20, the telephone number and the address. If you could call him, or at least add him to your list of contacts, that could be helpful.

"Could you provide the contact details for the DPD? It could prove beneficial." You tilted your head to the side and formed a polite smile on your lips.

If you could indeed call Jacobs friend you'd have the chance to collect information about him and get an idea who could have taken the gloves. Those gloves with Jacobs DNA were the only lead you had. You needed to expand your field of possibilities.

"Ah," Courtney huffed a faint sigh, ”It pains me to pass on the contact details of my dear guests to third parties. But, of course, I don't want to get in the way of any police investigation. I'll pass it onto you. But I can only do that because I am content that our poor boy would never dare to do any harm to anyone."

You gave her a positive nod and turned to the young Janice, that silently sat next to you for the time you and Miss Star talked. Which was kind of out of character for the quick-tempered personality she showed to you until now.

“Then I will go on with the next witness. Miss, please state your name.”

She needed a moment to react. “Eh- My Name is Angelica Sawyer. But please call me Janice.”

“Janice, you are aware that a voluntary misstatement is obstruction of justice and will be prosecuted?”

“...Is that bad?”

“Yeah, Dear. So don't lie,” Courtney replied.

Janice pouted. “Okay. Then, should I start?”

"Yes, please. You've, as well, seen the suspect last night. Could you please give me an account of that? Can you confirm what Miss Star said?"

Quickly her eyes jumped over to her boss to search for something like an allowance to speak. Following her view, you saw Courtney giving her a stern but graceful nod.

"He and his-," she started carefully as her focus still laid on Courtney. "He and his friends came here before,” her head moved slowly back to you, meeting your eyes. “They like it here!" She gleefully giggled raising her shoulders. "They were here the whole evening. They left late in the morning. About," her finger pressed against her pouting lips, "About 4 in the morning?"

"4?” That's long... “Do you always keep opened until dawn?"

Janice waved with her hand. "No of course not. But never stop a great party! We just enjoyed the atmosphere and decided to not break the mood in the middle of a feast."

Thinking of the days you were still in university, you couldn't remember ever being in a club until dawn. Those kids got some lifestyle. If even the owner decides to keep going because the party is going nuts, it must have been a good one.

You shook that thought out of your head. It didn't belong here.

"He was singing," Janice added moony. "One of those old songs from the last century. He and a friend were super duper drunk and began to sing it for us. A love song. 'Don't go breaking my heart'? I think something like this. It was so cute~," she chirped wiggling in her seat. "I had to make a video!"

"Excuse me?" you blinked at her wide-eyed.

"Janice!" Courtney scolded her. "You can't do that." She was obviously underinformed in that matter. No surprise. Filming drunken guests was inexcusable as an employee.

"I am sorry... I shouldn't have done this," she whimpered and rubbed her hands over her knees.

"No don't be," you interrupted Courtney, who was just about to say something. "This would be perfect. Can we have that video? We can confirm his innocence like that. Like that it would be entirely waterproof." You nearly jumped out of your chair.

Realizing your sudden outburst you settled again in an upright position and turned to Courtney.

"Miss Star, I'm sure you want to handle this issue of discretion, but please let me take the video and I will take my leave right away," you raised a brow and offered an open hand.

Courtney's head sunk and she inhaled deeply. Having trouble to keep up her gracious expression she closed her eyes and calmed down. You could sense the anger pumping through her veins.

"Of course. Pardon my manners. I'll make sure you'll get everything you need from us." Her mature and calm attitude returned.

Suddenly the door jumped open. Shocked, you turned around and you saw a young man in a white dress shirt leaning on the door frame.

"He simply won't leave her alone. We tried our best, but he's not leaving," Out of breath, his words were addressed to Courtney. As you turned to view her she stood up.

"I will be there right away, Micheal," Courtney put on a serious mien. With lines of worry, she threw on a golden coat and made her way to the door. She babbled some hasty apologies and followed the young man down the hallway.

Your head darted to Janice awaiting some sort of explanation. Janice glimpsed over to you and a bright fake smile spread over her cheeks, then she hurried after them.

A bit perplex, you put together your belongings and decided to follow the alarmed divas. Closing the door behind you, you tried to find the exit of that corridor. Around a corner you noticed Janice vanishing behind a door. You wanted to go after her but got distracted by some bewildering noise.

Female laughter rang through the hall and between all the soft feminine voices, you recognized a deeper male voice. You tracked the sound until you found yourself back in the big main room near the entrance.

"Ladies, please. I-"

"Naww! Don't be so shy! Come stay with us a little longer!"

On a sofa in a corner, you found a bunch of stylish young women surrounding your poor partner. Even though you'd think that most men would die to be in his position, he made a rather reluctant impression.

The girl cheekily sitting on Connor's lap cupped his face with one hand to make him look him in her eyes. But Connor tried to resist her lead and just uneasily glanced over to her. His mouth opened an inch, ready to answer, still, he just stammered.

Those girls were everywhere. Some held on to his arms, one hugged his neck from behind and snuggled her cheek onto his, another put her legs over his lap.

Visibly amused by his shyness, the girls were all the more taken with him. Stroked and admired from all sides, Connor unsuccessfully tried to free himself from this unexpected onslaught of affection.

Amused you stood at the edge of action and watched everything with folded arms from a safe distance. Eventually, you decided to intervene.

"I- I really can't- I really can't stay. Please-"

"Oh sweet heart don't let us beg. Come on~"

"Okay ladies." You walked over to Connor's new harem. "That's enough, give this poor guy a break." It was hard to hide a smile. You stood in front of them, reaping astonished but also outraged looks.

“A-Amelia..,” Connor blinked at you with his big dark eyes.

"And who are you?" One of the girls asked you. "We found him first, right sweetie?" she pouted at Connor.

"Actually-." Connor started to hesitantly untangle from all those legs and hands. "I'm with her," he stated politely as he gently lifted the girl from his lap. Apparently, that was the excuse he was waiting for.

With breathed protest, they tried to hold him back until they finally gave up. He stumbled, still a bit overpowered, over to you. Embarrassed, he dressed his clothes and hairstyle and gave his best to ignore the giggling girls behind him.

Arms still linked before your chest, you chuckled sardonically. "As I see you already got yourself comfortable," you joked.

"Those kind ladies wanted me to accompany them for their break. I rejected the offer, but they were remarkably... resolute," he commented.

Your hands lowered to your side. “So what are you doing here? I thought you go check on Anna,” you asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Yeah, about that... When I was there nobody was at home. I called her multiple times. Jacob isn't available, either.” Connor frowned. “I called at the DPD to check on her. Hopefully, we will find her. This kind of behavior is more than suspicious...,” his voice trailed off.

If Anna ran away, Jacob could have known that she was the one. If that would be true, the picture of the culprit being addicted and stealing the drug for themselves should be invalid.

As far as you knew, androids weren't designed to consume drugs. An addiction would make no sense. But why killing a dealer and stealing the drugs? For the money? Wouldn't be that far-fetched.

Jacob was innocent. You had more than enough proof to call him save.

If the DPD was informed she shouldn't get far. You needed to be quicker than her, when you're lucky, she will be caught within a few hours. Suspects not just run off like that. Killers do.

“Could you at least complete your task? Got the testimony?” Connor brought you back into the room.

“Yes, I have plenty of evidence. I got the name and telephone number of the birthday-kid from last night, the recorded testimony of a hostess and the owner, and I got even a video with Jacob in it, recorded yesterday,” you smirked and took your tablet to show it to Connor.

But at the moment you looked down on your screen, a silhouette rushed over the corridor.

She stopped by Connor and as you lifted your head, you witnessed one of the girls placing a bold kiss on your partner's cheek, leaving a red mark of her lipstick on his skin.

She chuckled and left as quickly as she came, running back to the other squeeking girls. A puzzled Connor was left behind perplexedly watching his new worshippers heading down the hallway.

With a blanked expression, he touched his cheek like he hasn't quite understood what just happened. Blinking repeatedly, his eyes wandered over to your own. You slapped a hand over your mouth, hiding a wide grin.

Reading his face, he was less amused than you were. We're not talking about him being angry. No, he clearly had no idea how to handle that situation.

He stiffly tried to return to a relaxed position, but the confusion was still painted all over him. Fingertips rubbing over the red paint, he just made it worse.

“Wait, I'll-,” you took a handkerchief and took a step closer. “Hold that,” you gave him the tablet and wiped off the red from his face. Still not able to hide your amusement, you chuckled.

“W-What?” Connor stammered.

“You're blushing,” you teased him with a snarky smile.

Instantly his shoulders tensed. “No- No, I'm not.”

Pulling away his face he turned to the tablet. “Wha- What do we have here?” He scrolled through the already opened tab.

Shrugging your shoulders you gave up on teasing him and put away the handkerchief. “That's all the stuff Courtney, the owner, could give to me,” you lifted your chin to look at him.

Wait.

Your eyes darted through the room. Where did she go? Which door was it?

Narrow-eyed you scanned the hallway for the one Janice took. Finding the said door you stomped over the carpet. Connor following closely, after he noticed you running away.

“What's wrong? Amelia!” He grabbed your arm making you turn around. “Where are you going?” You looked into alarmed eyes.

Your finger pointed towards the room Janice went. “My interview was interrupted by a startled employee, who said someone was getting pressed by a guest. The owner stormed out like it meant real trouble. I wanted to make sure they are alright,” you expounded.

Connor followed your sign and as he let go of you, you walked up to the door. It could be that the person who bothered the young girl was just a clingy customer, but you've seen too much to just ignore those kinds of situations.

The moment you reached the door, you almost got the wood slammed into your face. On the other side, you heard footsteps leaving the room.

“I'm very sorry, that we have to end that situation like that. I need you to leave that place right away,” Courtney's voice demanded.

You and Connor took some steps to the left to watch the scenery from behind the door. In front of you was Janice, holding open the door.

Micheal, the boy who called for help, was guiding the girl to another room. She didn't look that well. Still trembling, the boy had to hold her so she wouldn't fall.

Courtney was hard to miss. Broad shouldered and high as a tree, she builds up in front of the unwelcomed guest. That was not the kind of person you wanted to mess with. Next to her, the guest looked like a toddler. Though, he seemed to be way taller than you.

“And don't come back,” she added resolutely.

The man pulled his hat down, hiding his face. Hopefully, he was embarrassed by his actions.

Even if this establishment was more than just a karaoke-bar: if the girls say 'no', it's a 'no'.

“Are you sure about this, Miss?” the man spoke from behind his scarf.

Was that a threat? Something about this voice was familiar. Heat shot up to your eyes and it a wave of ice rushed down your spine.

Please be wrong.

“Absolutely,” Courtney raised her voice, ”Now go. I won't ask a second time.”

The man responded with raised hands and a calm voice. “Don't worry. I'll take my leave.” And with that, he waltzed down the corridor.

“Oh, where are my manners!” he turned around on his heels, lifting his hat, revealing his face.

A percussive pressure squeezed your lungs. Of course. You knew that man. And he meant trouble.

“It was nice to meet you after all this time. I hope we might see again, Miss,” his words were slicing through the air. His freezing eyes stabbed you. With a sly smile, he turned around and left the club.

The room fell silent, only the mild background music playing.

He had a taking aura. Not charming, more the kind of rousing, charismatic psychopath. The one that walks into the room and lures you into his dirty games.

He knew how to get what he wants, so he gets everything he wants. Maybe that was the reason for the riot. He couldn't handle that 'No'.

You didn't know if you wanted to follow him to arrest him and kick his ass, or run for your life and never come back.

You couldn't breathe properly, it was like you were suffocating from the air you inhaled. Every time your rib cage rose and fell your chest tightened. When you go now, you could still catch him. You wanted him to get punished for all the things he did to you. He did to them.

You clenched your fists. Sweat build on your palms.

He recognized you. Was he following you? Was he here for you or was it a coincidence? The last words he spoke, were clearly meant for you to hear. No doubt.

Maybe you should run.

You felt someone touch your shoulder.

“Amelia, are you okay? You're all pale,” Connor enquired. Your head shot up.

His words broke the spell and you started to distinguish your surroundings again. Absently you nodded. It took you a second or two to calm down.

Breathe.

You stuffed your shaking hands into your pockets. “I'm – I'm okay. Just got a bit airy-fairy. I should get some fresh air.” You avoided to face him, you probably looked like a ghost. You rubbed your forehead.

“Oh!” Courtney now noticed your attendance. “I'm really sorry that you had to deal with all this!” Her angry mamma-attitude faded and she turned back into the graceful queen she was before.

You build up and faced her with a professional expression. Still, your lip was shaking. “Miss Star, we will take our leave now. I thank you for your cooperation and if you think of something, or need help, feel welcomed to call the Detroit Police.”

\----------Connor---------

Walking down the short stairs, the first snowflakes began to fall. The weather report said it would rain, but that was a definite improvement.

Snow was cold and when it got too cold it was burning. Even Connor could get into a tangle if a snow-storm gets too strong. But beautiful little flakes were delightful and didn't do any harm. Hopefully, it will remain.

You were already waiting by the car, he parked right next to the entrance. Anemically, you leaned against the metal frame of the vehicle.

Albeit, you said you were fine something was off.

You were more than lively when he met you in the hall. Something about that argument the owner and that man had, seemed to not let go of you. The vital parameters were alright, though your breathing pattern was a bit unsteady.

The sudden excuse of dizziness sounded more like a lie than the truth.

On the other side, who was he to scold you about lying.

Once he reached you, he opened the car and rested his arm on the roof, imitating your posture. You noticed him viewing you and turned around.

It pained him to see you so... out of order. Reddish circles under your eyes, pale skin with blue trembling lips. You said you were alright, still, you looked like you just experienced your worst nightmare. Connor swallowed. 

You yawned, “Where do you want to go now? Any plans?”, and crossed your arms on the roof, resting your head on your arms.

He wouldn't want you to go home already. You were dodging the situation. Your state kept him too busy.

He would love to discuss with you the current results. There might also be a way to find out more about you. But there would be nothing left to do for today. Now it's time to wait and see what happens tomorrow.

Sulkingly, you mumbled about being hungry.

“Yeah?” Connor chuckled. Wasn't such a bad idea. “Well, I'm not hungry, but if you want, we can stop at a restaurant and get something for you to eat,” he suggested.

Like a sack of rice, you swayed the door open and dropped into the seat. “Sounds wonderful.”

Even though your voice sounded tired, Connor sensed that you were slowly calming down.

He had more than one theory what could have startled you that way. The most prominent one was that she knew the man with the hat.

Connor wasn't stupid. He understood that the greetings weren't meant for the club owner, but he wasn't sure why he addressed you.

Certainly, you knew him as well, otherwise, you wouldn't freak out like this. He could ask you right away, yet he looked at that distressed face of yours and just couldn't. He was afraid what would happen if he dug any deeper when simply meeting that person responded in such a heavy reaction.

“And what would you like to eat? Something special?" Connor put a faint smile on his lips as he started the engine.

"Something greasy,” you huffed and sunk into the seat.

Who was that guy?

“Sure.”

And what does he want from you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took more time than I originally expected. 
> 
> Our first day was calculated to reach up to 3, maybe 4 chapters. But I suck at math. Now it's chapter 11 and it's not over yet. But I have to say that I really enjoy writing. My notes are messy af and I have constantly 6 tabs open (my laptops really old, about 5 years and nearly dying) but I like it. 
> 
> Additionally, I think that I improved my style and language. My first upload was filled with spelling errors and layout issues (still space for improvement). I can see the results and, though that it started as an experiment, it's part of my mindset now. Really astonishing experience. 
> 
> I started drawing the characters for fun, but realized that probably everyone got a different picture of the characters (except Connor, Hank, etc.) Now I'm more interested in how you see the characters. Some celebrities, or characters from series or movies? I'd love to hear that.


	12. Cold Snowy fries

February 2nd, 2038  
9:30 pm

"Ugh," you moaned, taking a big bite of your Burger. "I really needed this."

You jumped the calorie bomb like it was the first thing you'd eat since forever. It's been ages that you've eaten something so unhealthy, but when you get really hungry, there's nothing better than some fast food. And you sadly haven't had time to eat today. There was only this bland Mentos for lunch, which anyway gives way in taste after 5 minutes.

Completely distracted by your food, you had almost forgotten that you were not alone, but Connor made himself noticeable with a warm chuckle. Feeling caught you lifted your head and blinked at him with big eyes, burger sauce at the corner of your mouth.

"Are you better now?" he asked, leaning against the high table.

Swallowing down, you wiped your face with a handkerchief, joyfully nodding. He let you eat in peace as he watched the snow fall. The white little flakes gathered on his hair and shoulders. Curiously glancing up from the corner of his eyes he cocked his head a bit to watch them falling from the sky.

"It's really pretty," you romanticized, following his gaze.

Snow was something natural and most common in your life. You grew up in the place where 'light snowfall' meant 'up to your knees'. Though it can be tough, a burden even, you wouldn't want to live in a world without it. It had some kind of magic in it.

His eyes drifted over to you, not quite letting go of the sky. "Yeah. It definitely is."

Putting down your food, you briefly cleaned your hands. With a big gulp from your cup, you rested your head on your palms, watching him.

It's been only one day, yet you had the faint feeling you could trust him and rely on him. He was composed, and at the same time, he had no chill at all. He had a taking charm with a responsible and mature glow, still, he was kinda weird. You wished you could have met him before. Somewhat you were happy the Lieutenant was currently prevented, otherwise, you wouldn't have the chance to work with Connor over the next days. Though you'd like to experience them working together.

Continuing the thought you already had before, you wondered how it must have been for Connor and Anderson to work together. At their house, they talked like they knew each other for years. They share a car, they work together, and they live together. It must be a strong bond connecting those two. Like Connor said: He was like a father for him.

"Connor?"

An absent humming confirmed he was listening.

"So you and Lieutenant Anderson... How does this work?" You tried to set the ball rolling.

With a sharp huff, Connors attention directed to you. He turned around, elbows resting on the table. Fingers intertwined, he observed the street while thinking of words.

"I was just relocated to this precinct. Captain Fowler requested Hank to take me with him and to accept my help with his new case, but Hank was," he frowned, "more of a lone fighter."

"So you didn't get along well?" Not hard to believe, if you remembered Hanks reputation.

"Firstly not. He thought very poorly of me. Said I was... following my instructions too stoically, and that I was too... clinical. Furthermore, my style of investigation was improper. He even commenced a heated argument with Captain Fowler, striving for not having to keep on working with me."

"Ouch...," you hissed through your teeth.

”In the end, he had to deal with me. I tried my best to prevent annoying him more than necessary, but it merely changed anything." Dejected he sunk his head low. It was nothing more than a memory, yet it hit him hard.

"Eventually it turned out to be a good decision of Fowler to not give in, didn't it?” Your comforting attempt reaped a mild smile. “Say, what kind of case you two were working on?"

His mouth drew a small circle, brows raised. It took him a second to gather his thoughts. Something was bothering you about that. "We... were responsible for the deviant cases. We chased the disobedient androids who escaped from their home or even killed their owner. In the beginning, it was just a couple of cases but suddenly a great number of androids developed a free will. Cyberlife and the authorities dismissed it as an error in their coding. Like a virus. Initially, I was the same... opinion.”

The way he chooses his humble words made you listen attentively. You decided to pay more attention to what he said than to how he spoke, yet it was suspicious how careful he tried to find the right phrases. The feeling of him avoiding special facts in his story confused you. Was he lying? Why would he do that? Nevertheless, you decided to keep listening. You could use the information.

"And what was it then? If it wasn't a virus."

"The reason for it is not explicit. But there are lots of theories. There are people who believe its a religious entity, who came to set them free. It's called rA9. But nobody knows more than the rumors."

"You mean they believe in something like an android God?" you asked with a rather clueless face. Something so irrational like a deity, created by the artificial mind of an android? Impressive.

Connor shrugged. "Some believe it. Some don't. Just like humans do."

Watching the little crystals melt on the table's surface you began to ponder. "You know quite much about them... I can hardly say that I know anything about it at all," mumbling you pick up a fry.

Connors gaze laid on you.

"You- You said you came from Canada,” his words stumbled again.

But now it was different, the sudden silence must have made him feel uncomfortable. Like before, he apparently was worried to mess up that conversation. It was cute, but hopefully, he was just nervous 'cuz you two were still strangers. You wouldn't bite.

Unless he would want you to.

STOP that.

“It must be different,” he kept going. “Canada is still an android-free country. As you said, it's a bit much. All that. Maybe...is there something you would like to know about androids? Maybe I can tell you one or two things," Connor opened his hands, "I mean I'm no expert, but I know a few things." A proud smile appeared on his face.

You grabbed a hand full of fries and thought about his offer.

You didn't even know what you didn't know. They bleed some blue Thirium-liquid... And they were made of plastic, guessing from the term 'plastic prick' which was a really common insult when you started to work here. And they're told to be better than humans in most ways. Next, to some single applications you happened to experience, there was nothing you could call 'knowledge'.

The long pause made Connor repeat the question. "Is there anything you'd like to know? After all, androids will be part of your area of competence, now that they will be an official part of society."

He wasn't entirely wrong. With the revolution, you will frequently have to do with androids. And most likely it will happen that your investigations will contain androids. Androids like Layla or Anna. You should try to understand them, but also be able to defend.

“I hardly 'know' anything about them. Nothing about their skills or how they actually work. I couldn't even keep track of the news 'cuz I was hospitalized. I wouldn't know what to ask, I wouldn't know where to start,” almost embarrassed you chewed on your bottom lip.

A sweet merry expression painted over his face. He began to tell you nearly all the things you could need to know about androids.

Where Cyberlife was founded and how the small start-up developed into the global market leader for industrial and medical technologies. How the genius of the company 'Kamski' left Cyberlife to live a hermit life. Additionally the general android boom and how everyone wanted an android for their household, resulting in a debacle of unemployment. The riots and protests against androids lead by the upset population. The deviants, the revolution.

He even tried to teach you about the biocomponents and the overall anatomy. How they feel no pain, but still can die is specific parts of their system are missing. Their connection to the internet and the fact that they can scan almost anything for further information. Depending on their original profession they had more special abilities. Also, he told you about the flaws they constructed to make an android look more human.

With Markus and 'Jericho' successfully leading the peaceful protest the government quickly arranged a conference to discuss their next steps.

Apparently, this Markus was more than powerful with his words. A friendly co-existence was shaping up. After the revolution, most androids changed their workplace and android-shelters were opened for all the abandoned and homeless. The state of emergency transformed into a well-structured economic system.

The freedom they fought for began.

Cyberlife is now mainly established in the medical sector and had to accept their fate. All androids had to be set free. Currently, Markus is bargaining the global freedom for androids in Europe. Although it was hard to keep track of all those sudden inputs, you listened carefully to every word he said. More than once he stumbled over his words.

“Wait, so this Markus-guy is like the 'Android-President'? That's pretty cool!” Scratching the lid of your cup you beamed up to your ears. To think that one person can spark an entire country. You'd like to meet that person once.

Connor tilted his head. “I thought you weren't very fond of androids, Amelia? Yet you seem so thrilled.”

He was right. Your excitement clashed with your actual attitude towards androids. Per se, you didn't hate them. It was complex.

“Yeah, about that...,” you shove your hands into your pockets. It slowly began to get chilly, “It's still difficult to accept them as... alive. The moment I realize I'm talking to a machine, I just can't help but feel inhibited.” You huffed a breath of air, making a tiny cloud.

Connor crossed his arms, still leaning on the table. His shoulders tensed. “You seemed to be okay with Layla,” his face was twisted.

You already knew that Connor was pro-androids. That wouldn't be the first time you had to defend your opinion, albeit it didn't happen that often.

Fidgeting inside your pockets, you breathed, looking for the right words. “Look, Connor. Layla was nice, so I was being polite. A casual chat, nothing more. Still, I would struggle to call her a living being.” You glanced over to him, his eyes conveyed disillusionment. “Of course I was being nice! I don't think my fridge got a vibrant soul either, still, I won't burn it to the ground because of that."

Your voice had more distant in it than originally intended.

Instead of a response you only saw a blank perplex Connor, unable to say anything. Wide eyes told you, that this was not the answer he was expecting. To make it less awkward you quickly kept explaining.

“I- I mean, I don't want them to give up their rights! And I don't want them to suffer. ...I- And maybe I'm wrong. But to be honest I can't sincerely accept them. I- I simply tolerate them,” you sighed.

Eyes still wide opened, Connor took a moment to mumble a numb, “Sure...”

You said something wrong.

“I'm -I'm happy that you're at least not- not violent.” Unsure if he meant it or he was mocking you, happy was not the word you'd use to describe his face.

Pinching the bridge of your nose you closed your eyes. “Oh god... I know it sounds cruel... Everyone is supportive and even the THUGS started to get along with them and I keep seeing them as toasters...,” regretting what you said you muttered somewhat like an apology. “It's just that I didn't have any chance to get used to them. I come to Detroit and everyone is against them, seeing them as plastic. Then I get hospitalized and when I came back everyone says they're alive and free to decide about their life. It's simply a big change and I don't think I can just incorporate them. Like someone just flicked a switch!” The words just sputtered out your mouth.

You rubbed your forehead. You couldn't remember telling anyone about that before, or thinking about it out loud.

Calming down you glimpsed over your shoulder, seeing Connor absently nodding to himself.

“I think I know what you mean by that,” he lifted his head to meet your eyes, “It is a bit overwhelming, I'll give you that. Perhaps, we just need time for that,” his serene nature returned, his muscles relaxed.

“We? I thought you were good with them,” you wondered.

“I am. It would be waste not to be. Even so, it's a lot to process. It's a new life that just appeared, right in front of your face. It's … it's much,” he trailed off.

The next minutes you kept a peaceful quiet. Using the moment, you kept eating the last couple of fries left in the small paper bag. You offered some to Connor but he waved a 'no thanks'. Couldn't blame him, though, they were cold and the snowflakes damped them into soaky potato sticks.

“If you're okay with it,” Connor rearranged his position, “I'd like to ask you a personal question.” Curious about what he would want to know, you turned around to face him, your elbow resting on the table. “You said that, while the revolution was happening, you were in a hospital. Was that the reason for your break? ”Your instant reply was a nervous, nearly silent laugh.

This pressure throbbed against your chest again. He was just asking nicely. It was no guilt or sadness in his voice. Maybe that was good. Maybe that was what you wanted. Talk about it without feeling the need to defend yourself. No justifying your past. You gulped.

“It was a bad accident. 6 month for my recovery to be completed. Nevertheless, I have to pay my doctor a visit from time to time. Still not at my best,” you intentionally placed an easygoing sound into your voice. Your heart was beating faster. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.It was warmer like that.

“What kind of accident? Apparently, you suffered serious injuries,” he inquired. This objective voice was oddly soothing.

“It was a car crash. I took all damage you can imagine...” Connor cocked his snoopy head, waiting for you to go on. Huffing a breath, you smiled over his nosiness.

“Next to some bad bruises, burns, and cuts, I had a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a comminuted fracture of my right scapula,” you rolled your shoulders, ”and like that wasn't enough I had a moderate traumatic brain injury,” you listed the most injuries.

Slowly a hint of guilt glowed in his eyes. You regretted divulging so much.

“Don't,” you exhorted. Seeing his eyes stabbing you with sorrow, your jaw clenched.

Like he actually knew what you meant, he shifted. “I'm sorry...However, I'm glad you're okay now,” his deep voice scratched in his throat. What a pleasant sound that was.

'Okay' was not the most suitable way to describe it. You decided to skip the PTSD, the fact that you were unable to speak for the first few days, your hypersensitive perception going crazy, and your overall recession of confidence and risk-taking. But except that, you were okey-dokey.

“Right, it's getting better every day. Would be a bummer if I had to lose my job because of some stupid car crash,” and again you started giggling to yourself. That was the perfectly appropriated reaction to almost losing your life and the only job you ever wanted: You stupidly laugh like a little school girl. Pained by your own uncoolness, you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, about that, aren't you quite young for a detective?”

He was completely right. Detroit raised its minimum age up to 28. You were fragile 25. Proudly smiling, you got a headache just thinking about it.

“You're in the mood for asking questions, huh?” you teased him with a playful smirk.

“I'm sorry,” He jolted upright. “I didn't want to overstep any borders. I was just wondering,” pulling the fabric of his collar, he returned to his relaxed bearing.

“Don't stress it.”

If you're lucky he wouldn't ask a second time.

“So? And why are the conditions of admission not applying to you?”

Dammit.

“It's a bit weird,” you cautioned him.

Connor blinked, “What do you mean?”

”It's called hypersensitive perception, but I'm pretty damn sure that they made that up,” you explained in a bored tone.

His brows furrowed. Obviously labeling it didn't help much. “And that means?”

You sighed deeply and started the explanation you despised so much. “It means that I'm sensitive towards just about every stimulus in my immediate surrounding. I hear, smell, feel and mainly see better than the majority of people. It can be great for a detective, but sucks at literally everything else.”

Connor raised his chin, eyes fixated on you. “So you notice ..like-”

“Nearly everything. Okay, not everything. When I was a kid it drove me crazy. Can you imagine a 3-year-old hearing the electricity in the walls humming, thinking an evil spirit haunts her wherever she goes? I had problems to fall asleep and wouldn't eat. And when you tell your parents about it, they don't think of a neural dysfunction and get her some rest. No, they run from one clinic to the next...,” you drifted off.

Hospitals were the worst. So much sound, such a bitter taste and this smell of blood, cathartics, and zwieback. Closing your eyes, you rolled your shoulders.

“Amelia?”

You flinched by the sound of his voice. “Sorry, what was going on?” Eyes adjusting, you noticed Connor's concerned expression. It was fine. You had that sometimes. No need to worry. “Oh, right. Messed up toddler. Anyway, about the time of hitting puberty, I got it. To keep it short: I filter it. All of it. It's like walking around with closed eyes and ears and nose and … skin?” You regarded your hands, a question mark over your head.

“And that works for you?” He made a genuinely interested impression. And moreover, he wasn't asking you to prove it. No, he believed you. Or he thought you hit your head too hard and went bonkers. Both comprehensive.

“It's better that way,” your eyes wandered over the street. “If I need to, I just have to scale it down. But I mostly avoid it, since I get a headache when I'm, “ your fingers made air quotes, “using it.”

“I can imagine that it can be arduous at times. At work, I suppose, it's advantageous,” he responded, eyes rambling from one place another.

You had the feeling he wasn't- , though he didn't quite show it, he wasn't certain what to think of it. Most people said it was just a trick, grabbing attention or that you just made up things. The people at the DPD weren't sure about you and your freak-show either. Some still aren't.

“Connor, you see that man over there?” You pointed at a man wrapped in a warm coat, ordering something at the Food Truck.

He gave you an affirming nod. “Yes, what about him?”

You closed your eyes and tried to focus, you wouldn't want to hear everything around you. Just that one person. Opening your eyes again you observed him.

“He put on too much aftershave and tried to wash it away. His shoes are new, he still has to break them in. And recently he was at a kindergarten, he still smells like fruit tea and baby powder.” You snorted as he turned around. Little red stains peered through his open jacket. “He changed his pants, the others were covered with ketchup.”

Connor watched the man himself, searching for any indications of what you just said before his eyes drifted over to you. “For real? You can see that?” A beguiled gleam shined in his face.

“Go and ask him,” you chuckled. His big eyes had something somewhat gleeful.

Raising his head, he watched the man who just went to one of the high tables. He flinched like he was actually thinking about going over and asking him about the things you just said. Of course, there was a chance you had mistaken with one or two things, but usually, you prove to be right.

“No I believe you,” Connor rested his crossed arms on the table again. Pulling his jacket closer he hugged his arms. It was getting colder, but still not too cool for you. Your nose was getting a bit chilly.

“I think I had enough time to show my freaky swagger,” you ended the topic with a sarcastic voice, rocking back and forth while holding on to the edge of the table.

You shouldn't have talked about this. Actually, you knew that you didn't want to talk about it anymore, yet you did it again. Hopefully, you won't regret it. Normally, people don't stay for too long, as soon as they know what kind of X-men weirdo you were, but you liked your quirk. It was an odd fight between pride and shame.

“Something wrong?” Connor asked you, hesitantly reaching out his arm.

Today was not your best day. You had easily got off the track.

You raked your fingers through your hair. “Oh, no it's- it's only me getting a bit tired,” you lied. But he accepted your excuse. “Now, that I told you a whole bunch of my past, what about you, Connor?” His head jolted up.

“A- About me?” This hesitant stammering again. Looking into deep, blinking eyes, you wondered why he behaved like this.

“Yeah. Spill it! You still didn't tell me how you and the Lieutenant went from enemies to best friends,” you shrugged, “Why not start with that?”

“Okay then,” with a short glimpse towards you, he straightened, “Over the time we spend working together I developed a kind of empathy... for the deviants. I would say that was a important part of our relationship. More and more decisions I made, were against my instructions: To hunt down the broken androids. At the time being, they were nothing but machines, designed to obey. It wasn't cruel, it wasn't that we deprived them of their freedom. We just took back Cyberlife's property. But after some time,” Connor raised his head but now he held up his gaze, “It felt … wrong.” His forehead creased.

At a stroke, your throat felt really dry.

“At a point, I refused to carry out their orders. I let them run, decided to work against my task. Hank, he went through the same process. He, too, realized that they were more than just objects. Hank was much more of an emotional person than I could ever be, so he changed his mind first. Slowly my blind obedience crackled. I … He led me through this...through this change. I was never not tame when it came to superiors. But it wasn't right. He helped me a lot,” a faint smile rushed over his lips but quickly vanished again.

“Of course my boss wasn't exactly happy to lose her lapdog. Since I never cared to disagree with my missions, she was distraught over it. She wanted to … discharge me, she wanted to punish me for betraying her.”

“Sound like a cute personality,” you scoffed.

Connor panted a dry laugh, “No kidding. She was that kind of person who can be really nice if you do what you're told, but don't you dare to upset her. There is a cold heart deep down in the center of her chest. But lastly, Hank and I even managed to help those androids.”

“I guess you don't work for her anymore?” you leaned your head to the side, breathing small clouds.

”No. I have a contract with the precinct now. I officially work for Fowler. I don't have to concern myself with her anymore, at least I – at least I hope so,” His lips formed a thin line. There was no way you wouldn't notice this malaise in the sound of his voice.

You rose your eyebrows. “You look not so sure about that...”

Connor gave another dry, more nervous laugh. “She has her ways.”

It was hard to put a finger on it, but Connor's flurry gave you a bad feeling. He was holding still, only his eyes moving to watch the split of snow. Having a bad relationship with your boss, or ex-boss, was nothing unusual. But he seemed more churning than you'd expect him to.

“As I saw today, you're quite an asset to the precinct, even without some kind of strange disease. I strongly doubt Captain Fowler will give you back so easily,” you said softly nudging, his arm. It was a fake smile, but at least he seemed to let go of the topic.

After a quiet moment of eye-contact, Connor continued, “What I wanted to say: In the end, Hank and I got a good team. We decided to keep working as partners. But with my termination, I lost my... apartment. So, I had no place to go and Hank invited me to stay at his place. I'd say I'm more than glad to live with him and Sumo. I never had the luck to experience domestic family life,” Connor interrupted himself with a surprisingly warm laugh. It was still restrained, like almost everything he did, but more outgoing than his usual, charming chuckle.

“What is it?” you asked, wondering what was so funny.

Connor sunk his head, hiding the still remaining smile. “Nothing, I just remembered some cases we had recently.”

His sincere smile was infectious. “You probably got quite the business, huh?”

“It's never getting boring,” he looked up again, trying to remember a case, “Some weeks ago, we caught a man who sold candied apples to people on the streets,” he stated with a proud, expecting look.

What? Good... work?

“Why is that bad?” you screwed up your face.

“We had to deal with a series of poison murder. Guess how those people were poisoned,” he almost boasted.

You blurted out a startled, “No!” Just imagining some creep selling poisoned sweets made you shiver. Even if it was a clever concept.

You didn't know why, but now you had a smile on your face, too. Holding your hand in front of your mouth, you tried to cover your curled lips. Delighted by your horrified exhilaration Connor turned away, running his hand through his snowy hair, hiding his face.

“Please don't buy candy on the streets for the next days,” he breathed, eyes sparkling with joy. You snorted.

Panting 'oh god's and 'why's you tried to get yourself together, but as long Connor had that smile on his lips you couldn't stop it. Though you felt guilty for laughing about a poisoning, you were glad that Connor seemingly got the same kind of rotten humor, you had.

Without humor, you drown in this job, but that was just... silly giggling. And you loved it.

After you calmed down, you started one story after the other.

You went from the apple poisoning to a restaurant which had human-parts in it, then you jumped to a lost house filled with kittens, a gunfight in a cinema pass unnoticed through the loud movie and all kind of stupid things that happened to Connor.

Today's cashier lady who had to accept his bloody cash, Hank went missing for three days and lastly being found at the port and no one knows what happened. being hit on by an old lady who wanted to take him home, the hijacked subway, Sumo breaking loose and running through a garden-colony which ended in Connor interrupting a drug dealer squad.

You talked about your first murder case in high-school, a young girl found dead in the shower, hung. But with burned soles. The time you and a friend were nearly kidnapped by some mimes. The monkey in the library.

Munching a new portion of fries you jabbered, “And after almost 10 minutes of screaming for help, a more than annoyed Gavin scuffed up to me. And he was so done! With this 'Are you fucking serious?'-expression he stood there on the ground just looking up to me, seeing me, hanging there on that window, tangled up in that mess of cables. He just yelled 'WHY?', and I yelled back 'GET. ME. DOWN!' He turned to look around and just threw his hands in the air, 'JUMP!', 'WHAT? NO!' It was 5meters or so. I was sure that I would break a limb. But he said he'd definitely catch me, so... I jumped. Or better said I just fell like a rock, “ you gestured excessively taking one or two breaks to hold your laughter.

“Did he?” Connor chuckled.

You raised your little finger, “He broke his pinky.” A snarky grin was inevitable.

You both said more than just one time that you should probably go home, but even though you both agreed one of you always started another small 'Wait! One last thing!'-Story keeping the conversation rolling. Lastly, the street turned empty, fewer cars crossing the street, fewer shops opened. It was getting really late.

You smiled, resting your head on your crossed arms. Feeling the cold of your jacket touching your skin, you closed your eyes.

“Are you tired?”

Opening your eyes again, you mumbled a, “Nah. Just a -,” you were thrown off track by the fact how close he was to you.

Connor was, as well, resting his head on his crossed arms. A really honey-like smirk on his lips. He wasn't smiling so much before.

That gesture, leaning down to you, with that beam, you liked that.

You liked standing out here in the cold, eating snowy fries with him.

It was good. It was nice.

But it was late, really late. You will see him tomorrow again, you were working again.

You stood straight, adjusting your jacket. “Yeah, I think I am. It's getting late.”

Connor raised his head, knocking off the snow. A content nod and you strolled over to the car. The snow scrunched under your feet, leaving footprints on the thin white carpet. A last glimpse up to the clouded sky, to admire the shiny dots swaying through the gleam of yellow street lights, and you sat down in the car seat. Just some seconds after, you drove off the street.

After a while, you felt your hands heating up. You brushed over the reddish marks on your fingers, where the blood capillaries widened.

Lost in blank thoughts you ran your fingers over your skin, following the lines of your veins. As you reached your wrists you remembered Jacob, the purple-haired suspect for whom you crossed half Detroit, and the marks on his wrists. You almost forgot.

Red marks, like bracelets. “Handcuffs,” you breathed.

“Sorry?” Connor inquired, eyes locked on the street.

“Why was he cuffed?” you murmured, watching your wrist.

You didn't give it too much notice, but it was really simple. Although it was lightening to know what was causing those marks, it was troubling to know it. The first thought was those kinky girls from Blue Jazz. They seemed rather fond of him, anyway. But to leave those marks, nearly scratching into his flesh, it takes more violence than it would be sexy.

Pondering, you held up your hand and observed your skin. Was he violated? You should give him a call tomorrow. Anna running off and Jacob being violated, cuffed. What kind of crazy abusive relationship was that?

“What did you said? Who's crazy?” Connor questioned. Apparently, you were talking out loud.

“Jacob's wrists, they had red marks. I saw but didn't see. It was rough, I wonder what happened. We should ask,” you yawned, “we should ask tomorrow.” The volume of your voice sunk low and your tired Detective-head was getting idly. It was the comforting warmth of his car, that made you so tired. It was like a blanket. Metal blanket. With dog hair.

“okay,” Connor whispered.

Weariness pervaded your body. The silent clattering of the car was soothing, just like the jacket you pulled closer around you. Leaning back, you closed your eyes. It will take a while before you're at your place. It wouldn't bother anyone if you'd take a short nap. Just closing your eyes for a second.

“Amelia,” a deep humming tone echoed. “Amelia, we have arrived at your apartment,” Connor woke you up, slightly shaking your shoulder. A bit confused, you opened your bleary eyes.

Collecting your thoughts, you rubbed your palm over your face. Your fingertips were much colder than your cheeks, making you shiver.

“I'm awake,” you mumbled, clearly not awake. A bit slower than usual, you looked up to him.

He pulled back his hand, placing it back on the steering wheel. And with a hearty yawn, you eventually manage to leave the car. The cold air hit you like a bus. Was it that cold before? You started shaking instantly.

Before you closed the door, you bowed down to say bye. “Okay, Connor. Thank you for taking me home,” with your shaking hands you waved a goodbye, hugging yourself.

Connor waved back, a smile gracing his lips. You slammed the door shut, fighting through the cold wind to your door.

“Eh- Amelia!” Connor called out for you.

Did you forget something?

Wrapping yourself tighter into your jacket, you turned around, the cold wind making its way onto your neck.

The window was cranked down, and Connor's head was bent to his shoulder. “It was a very pleasant evening. I'm looking forward to tomorrow,” he said with a gentle smile.

Breathing upon your hands, you chuckled a soft “Good night, sleep tight,” before you went to your door. You heard the car driving off and you didn't feel that cold anymore.


	13. Hank, if you want him to be your son, you need to Dad-Talk

February 3nd, 2038

0:24

" "I never realized before what old people had to put up with!” she panted as she labored uphill. “Still, I don’t think wolves will eat me. I must be far too dry and tough. That’s one comfort.”

Night was coming down fast now and the heathery uplands were blue-gray. The wind was also sharper.

Sophie’s panting and the creaking of her limbs were so loud in her ears that it took her a while to notice that some of the grinding and puffing was not coming from herself at all. She looked up blurrily. Wizard Howl’s castle was rumbling and bumping toward her across the moorland.

Black smoke was blowing up in clouds from behind its black battlements. It looked tall and thin and heavy and ugly and very sinister indeed. Sophie leaned on her stick and watched it. She was not particularly frightened. She wondered how it moved. But the main thing in her mind was that all that smoke must mean a large fireside somewhere inside those tall black walls.

“Well, why not?” she said to her stick. “Wizard Howl is not likely to want my soul for his collection. He only takes young girls.” She raised her stick and wav-"

"Oh here you are. I knew I heard something." A hoarse voice made Connor look up from his book.

Seeing Hank peering through the opened door, he put the book aside, next to his tie which was lying loose on the floor.

“You're late. Normally you don't hang about till all hours. How long have you been here already?” Hank was now entering completely. Still in his sleepwear, he leaned against the door frame, arms casually linked before his chest.

“I just came back. I was trying to make as little noise as possible. Hope I didn't wake you,” Connor stated apologetically.

Hank waved it off, scanning the newly renovated room. “Nah. It's better like this. I was sleeping all day, that shit you gave me from the drug store got quite a power.” Hank rubbed his hand over his face, letting out an ailing groan.

He was still not good. It was getting better day by day but he still needed some rest. Connor didn't want Hank to be sick, but it was at least a consolation that he had to chance to work with Amelia for the next days.

“How was your case?” Hank scratched the back of his neck, “Saw you found a pretty replacement for me?”

Connor was hoped that he was just joking. He was pointing out his temporary collaboration with Amelia, but though she was a more than excellent alternative to Hank, he could never imagine to replace him. Then again, there would be no objection if he could spend some time with her from time to time. Case or not.

“Don't be like that," Connor playfully rolled his eyes. "We were clearing a suspects alibi and then she got hungry. I probably lost track of time, that's all.” Connor pulled his legs closer to his chest.

“Really? Is that so?” Hank asked astonishedly with a raised eyebrow. Connor couldn't properly read his facial expression. Why was he surprised by that? “And how was it?”

Now that he thought about it, 'forgetting the time', was something that never really happened in his life before. He had moments when he didn't care about the time. But just not thinking of it was new. He wasn't complaining: It was ...refreshing.

“It was a nice evening. She is a really interesting personality. We talked a lot, so I had the chance to get to know her better. I - I think she likes me," Connor contently lined out.

“That's great, son," a rarely happening smile flashed over his face, "But I meant the case."

“Oh."

Connor's eyes widened. "Yes, yes of course," his voice went shily quiet and his hand brushed over his neck.

It wasn't surprising that the case would be more interesting for Hank. Against all expectations, he was still a Lieutenant thoroughly. And in addition to this, a lighthearted conversation with another person was nothing special for him. He had that every day. Connor didn't.

He picked up his book again, brushing his fingers over its cover.

“While I was trying to interrogate our current main-suspect," Connor continued, "Amelia was heading to a club to collect the testimony of the employees to release another suspect we had at the time being. While I came back empty-handed, she was successfully getting more than enough material to verify his alibi. The main-suspect apparently run off and currently we're waiting for further information from the precinct." He swirled the book between his palms.

“That's great,” Hank commented, “And how...-," he stretched the word 'how', eyes wandering over Connor's room, "-was that date of yours? She seemed nice.” He made it sound like it was of little meaning for him. He even added a half-shrug.

Search results: 'Date'

1.The specification of time

or

2\. A term for social or romantic appointments.

Was Hank assuming that he and Amelia had a romantic meeting?

Initiate profound research...

Evaluating results...

Typical date activities were: Watching movies together, Going out to eat in a restaurant or a bistro, visiting events like festivals or theater performances, sportive activities and sexual intercourse.

Essential goal: spending time with a single(or a group of) people to get to know them better.

Some of the things he found during his research were included in today's course. The events they witnessed at Blue Jazz, for example, could be viewed as performances, and though it didn't include Amelia, had Connor almost had sexual intercourse with the ladies at the bar. At least they did spoke that kind of offer. Additionally, there was the meal at the Food Truck. In the end, he had spent much time with Amelia.

Yet he couldn't just make this decision on his own. It's not like Amelia agreed on it being a date, if it was a date. He wasn't in the place to make up something like this. Why should she even agree on it?

They were still strangers. It was a nice evening but must that mean that he can just say those things? Not that he even would comprehend the concept of 'feeling' in its whole spectrum. But he was well aware of the difference between platonic and romantic.

It was simply a chat. A nice chat. But a chat.

"I don't think it was a date, Hank," Connor remarked.

"Okay," Hank capitulating held up his hands, "and how was your not-date? Within the 20 seconds I talked to her, she made a good first impression. She's pretty, dontcha think?"

It was delightful for Connor to see Hank being visibly amused about this topic. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure how it went.

"In the first place, she's an exceptional detective. She told me about her uncommon ability and also about the incident that happened half a year ago. And she has an equally unhealthy appetite as yours, Hank. It was way less complicated than I initially thought. It was a more than satisfying evening," Connor replied with an adoring gleam in his eyes.

She was really amenable towards him. She had no remarkable restraint. No aversion.

But his shining eyes fell dull.

All of her kindness was just because he didn't tell her the truth. The candor was aimed at the Human-Connor he introduced to her. Not at him.

As she said, if she knew about the truth, she couldn't help but feel inhibited. It wouldn't be the same. She didn't like him. She tolerated him. He was the fridge without a vivid soul.

Reviewing today's project of understanding the human range better by pretending to be human himself to achieve purer results was now feeling like a ... like a mask.

When he talked about his past and had to take special care of his words, he felt bad. He meant no harm, he wasn't doing something particularly mean. He had a reasonable excuse. It was just for research. Only to explore human society, and it worked out pretty well. He had the impression that the relationship he built today was something different than all the acquaintanceships he made before.

The experiment was working just fine, right?

He learned about things he never knew. Vivid stories of a doubtlessly fascinating person, that brought him nearer to that person than every backup check could have. Realizing how the person sees the world and that every person sees the world in their own way. Everyone got a different story. Everyone got a different sketch.

It was a promising tactic to achieve his results. But it was less than dishonest.

A painful-sounding cough brought Connor's attention back to the present. Hank was leaned to the side, roaring into his elbow.

Not that the germs would actually affect Connor. He had no immune system as such.

"That's-," another loud cough popped up, "- That's great! I'm happy that you start making friends," Hank congratulated with a croaky voice.

"Yeah..." Connor's eyes wandered to the book in his hands. Fingers fidgeting with the frame.

"What did you do?" Hank cautiously stepped closer. Connor turned away, glancing to the ground, blinking heavily.

"I-," Connor hesitated.

Maybe he should ask Hank for advice. Perhaps a second opinion could help with his inner conflict. He would understand it.

"W-what if I didn't tell her the whole truth about... about me and what-," he glanced up, seeing Hank listening attentively. A concerned frown washed over his face. "-and what I am?"

Suddenly an odd pressure was making its way down his chest.

"Why would you do that?" his usually loud, heated voice was calm.

"When I met Amelia I just thought it would be an interesting experiment. To see how people treat you if you're human, or at least think you are. With my LED gone, I thought it was a suitable moment."

"Connor," Hank's voice fell low. Walking over, he sat down on the armrest of the couch. "Are you happy being an android?"

That was no light question. An existential crisis was one of the more complex phenomena of having feelings, and he already got problems with the easy ones.

Searching the room for answers, Connor's head started to spin.

"I thought, now that we are free, things would change for the better. But it's still-... I wanted to know how it was to be seen as a person and not as a machine. I'm aware that you and many others do their best to accept us, but it will always be different. I wished to experience being faced without preconception."

Connor paused for a moment to let him digest. Eventually, he rose his head to look Hank in the eyes. Hank was just nodding.

"So you lied to her?" he concluded.

"...yes."

Now Hank's head turned to Connor, meeting his eyes.

"But you like her?"

"...yes."

A hoarse pant escaped his airways. He scratched the back of his neck. "Then let me tell you one thing, son," he leaned down to Connor, hands folded, "No matter what reason you might have, don't lie about yourself to please somebody else. If you start bending to be to their liking you'll just end up messing with your own."

The conclusion was logical, but Connor wasn't convinced. Of course was lying bad. But he was still in control of the situation. He could still make use of the fact that Amelia wasn't aware of him being not particularly human. He could use the time he had left until she finds out to spend time- ...to collect useful information.

Should he really give up on that now?

Connor felt how Hank was watching his inner dispute. He probably was feeling uncomfortable like this. The Lieutenant wasn't a really soft person. At least he had issues to carry it to the outside. Deep in his heart, he was like marshmallows, but on the surface more solid. Knowing that his problems made him feel bad was burdening Connor.

"Did you ask her why she has something against androids?" Hank suddenly inquired.

Connor's head bobbed up again. How did he know that? He never said a word about Amelia being against them.

"I guess you have a reason for telling her a big fucking lie. And I can't see any other reason than you assuming she got a thing against you guys," Hank elaborated without another thought.

Sometimes Connor made the mistake to underestimate his partners head.

"She said she's not used to them. She kind of missed the whole revolutionary change in the people's heads. It was too sudden for her. Her words were comparing it to 'flicking a switch'," Connor explained, swirling his book in his hands.

Again Hank took a moment to think. Then he laughed dryly.

"Don't let that disturb you, Connor. If she likes you like that, she will like you with your plastic case and your wires. I mean, I like you, even though, you're a smartass with a stick up your ass, who always gives me some fucking rabbit food to eat," he grunted with a sly smirk.

Connor couldn't help but react with a chuckle.

"You're sure you wanna play this game?" Connor teased. "With that very long list of flaws you have to offer, you wanna fire the first shot?"

"It might be the only hit I land!"

Connor's half-hearted smile unbent. A quiet moment they just sat there in his room, staring at the ceiling.

"Okay then." Hank slapped his knee. "I think I will go back to bed." He stood up and walked over to the door. Holding the doorknob in his hand, he stopped to turn around.

"Don't stress yourself so much. Just be proud who you are," Hank advised, with tired eyes. His voice had a soothing effect.

"Good Night, Hank."

"Night, kid."

With that, Hank shut the door on his way out, leaving Connor back in his room. With a short glance at the door, he started to think about what he said.

He should tell her. At least he should try to explain.

Connor was just hoping she wouldn't get angry. With a nervous heartbeat, he calmed his mind by keeping on reading. Flipping through the pages he looked for the place he paused.

So... Sophie and the wizard...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt in the beginning was from the book of Howl's moving castle. I don't claim any rights on the book. I just thought it would be cute to let him read some fairy tales. I thought about something really meaningful, heavy or romantic, but a light-hearted kids story from Cole's old bookshelf was a better choice, I think.
> 
> I always try to update more frequently and I swear that I write every day, but I'm just slow. I hope it's not bothering too much.
> 
> Some parent-talk for the Christmas days(okay not anymore it's 27th)
> 
> Have a nice rest-2018! See you as soon as possible!


	14. Pansy Pennyroyal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last week was quiet busy so here you have a very long chapter :D

February 3nd

11:53

A thunderous throb woke you from your sleep. Trying to ignore, whatever was interfering your slumber, you shifted around and buried your face under a pile of pillows. It didn't really help.

What monster would make such clamor in the early morning?

Like a half-paralyzed seal, you just slithered off your bed, the crappy noise still banging through your ears. Throwing away your warm cozy blanket, you crawled to the next drawer and climbed up to your feet. The floor was cold as ice.

You stumbled through your apartment, hands pressing against your ears. Bumping into the wall, the beat was squashing your lungs. You became nauseous. It was loud and in a steady frequency. It was anguishing.

With your hand on the wall, you felt your way through the noise. Finally, you found the doorknob and ripped it open.

"What?" you hissed, holding your head.

A really perplex Connor slowly pulled back the arm, he was apparently knocking the door with.

With those puppy eyes, looking at you, you couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Oh, it's you," you huffed, relaxing your facial features. To get a clear head you took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of your nose. "What- what's up?"

Your voice echoed in your head like a boom box. Connor's eyes jumped from your head to your toes, eyeing the pajamas you were wearing for the night.

"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake you," he concluded. His voice was too loud. Like he was screaming.

"No, No, No, don't worry. Okay yes, you did."

"I'm sorry for that."

Trying to conceal the sudden over-sensitivity, you grumbled some invitation through your almost closed mouth. Waving him in, you rubbed your eyes lethargically.

Without another word, he followed your lead into the living room. Patiently he waited for you to get yourself together. A bit awkward he was standing there. Hands to his side, subtlety regarding your interior. First time at someone else's home was always bitter.

But thank God for the silence.

After some time, your ears got a grip and your hearing calmed to an appropriated level. That's what you get when you keep up the whole night watching Interflix. With a relieved breath, you linked your arms before your chest.

"So what brings you here, Connor?" To make up for your attitude before you put special softness into your voice. Sounded a bit not-so-cute mixed with your throaty morning voice but it was enough to show him you're not angry.

A bit hesitant, he waited a moment before he began talking.

"I was informed that about 40minutes ago, there was a murder at the Vogue Street. I thought you'd be interested to join me investigating..." He looked at you and your cheesy pajamas "But I understand if you aren't available at the moment."

Hiding your flushing cheeks, you turned away, embarrassed by the childish pattern of your nightwear.

A murder again? When you moved here to have more crimes you weren't asking for a dead body every morning. Those were still people dying.

You pushed yourself up to your feet. Getting an instant response from your balance, that was too fast. Holding on to the couch, you blinked away the stars before your eyes.

"O-okay," you said under your breath. "I'll- I'll come with you. I'll just need to change." Your thumb pointed at the bedroom door behind you.

Connor calmly nodded, watching you stumbling backward out of the room.

"Oh!" Your head popped backup from the corridor. "If you like you can make yourself a coffee! And if you're on it anyway, make one for me too."

"Alright, Amelia." A happy smile flashed over his face.

What was he so cheery about?

You closed the door to your room behind you and rummaged through your dresser. This room never saw any visitors so it was the definition of a mess. It's been a while since you cleaned it up completely. It was hard to find something in the dark closet, but your eyes were too tired to switch on the lights or to pull back the curtains.

Hopefully, Connor wouldn't mind the untidy apartment.

You stayed up late watching your favorite series. Then you couldn't fall asleep because you didn't stop thinking of the things that happened at Blue Jazz. And all the things he said.

The cold of his eyes lingered in your memory.

For one moment, the nice evening with Connor made you stop thinking about it. But in the end, it was too ruling.

It was really nice, wasn't it?

After brushing your teeth and your hair, you came back to the kitchen, dressed in your normal everyday clothes. Noticing your presence, Connor turned around, holding a mug with hot coffee.

Only one? You said you'd like one too...Okay, then you'll go with water.

...That's equally tasty...

Accepting to drink the water from your rusty calcified pipes, Connor handed you the mug.

"For me?" you breathed, receiving the cup of coffee. "Thank you."

"I'm not the coffee drinker." He smiled, waiting for you to drink. So you did.

Regardless of the fact that he managed to pick your favorite mug from all, it was tasting real...okay. Not the finest brew in town but it was definitely enjoyable.

"We should probably go right away," Connor mentioned after a moment. You nodded and put down the coffee.

"Right."

No time wasted, Connor gently touched your back, pushing you towards the front door. Seems like someone's pretty eager today. One of you had to be the motivated part after all.

\-------at Vogue Street 10minutes later-------

Passing by the police line, you followed Connor through a crowd of people. It was different than before. Yesterday the police's presence was barely noticed, now you had the whole package. Many policemen, lots of civilians and passengers gawking, and last but not least: the media. Four different broadcasters took position in front of the entrance trying to get information from the press officer.

"Good morning, Connor!" a man called over the busy place. An older man with grayish-white hair and a relaxed posture was greeting Connor with a firm handshake.

"Good Morning Officer Collins," Connor replied with a polite nod. "This is my partner Detective Rockland," he said placing his hand on your shoulder. A bit uneasy you stretched out your hand.

"Good Morning, Sir." Your voice was way too silent to make a good first impression. Although it was not the first time you both met, you couldn't imagine that he would remember. You had almost forgotten him yourself.

“So you are training the newbies now, huh Connor? Don't worry Miss, we don't bite. Fish are friends, not food, got it?" With a deep, heartfelt laugh, he gestured you to follow him.

Of course, he wouldn't remember you.

As you entered the building, you came into a hall filled with upset inhabitants. Those who weren't arguing with the police made phone calls or wore a distressed face. Just a minor part quietly waited for their questioning.

It was always the same.

Understandable, that you had places to be, jobs to work at, or kids to pick up from school or something. But being angry at those people who are actually trying to do their work and bothering them with their anger only slows down the process.

With loud words and his big figure Officer Collins maneuvered you through the crowd, up to the elevator. The three of you inside, he pressed the button and the door closed, shutting out the babbling.

"Oh sweet Lord, they'll never learn..." Collins shook his head, disillusioned with the civilians behavior. "Anyway." He took a tablet out his pocket. "Maybe you'd like to take a look at that."

He gave to you the file for the collected information. The first page was a table of basic information: a murder, reported at 11:10 in the vogue street 1204. Followed by photos of the two victims, together with a short list of evidence. Not much, yet it's been only 50minutes since the call arrived. A good investigation needed time.

Sadly, a skillful culprit needs just the glimpse of an eye to cover one's tracks.

Until the elevator arrived, you kept swiping through the file. Maya and Karen Fey, a little girl of 8 years and her mother, were found dead in their apartment. No traces of a fight. A simple cut to open their throat made a horrible mess on the white carpet.

Sometimes you worried about your sanity that you can look at those images, and feel a bit indifferent.

A straight slice at both victim's throats. Looked like a relaxed murdering. A real fight wouldn't exactly allow you to make such a clean cut. So the victim's were either outnumbered, overpowered or not aware of the danger coming to them.

"Is Mike working at the crime scene today?" Connor pointed at the photography.

You just noticed how close he was standing to you. It's not like there wasn't more than enough space for all of you in there. But his cologne was nice, so you let it slide.

The report said that the distress call came from a neighbor that saw a man with bloody clothes and a knife in his hands. The witness was inside her own apartment and only viewed him through the fisheye before calling the police.

"Yeah and he's quite busy today. He is the only one to secure the scene of crime. After the incident with this household android last time, Jeffrey had to dismiss the good old Thompson. But I'm sure you will not waste a single tear for that, huh?" Collins nudged Connor's side.

The conversation, you had more overheard than listened to, ended with the bright 'ping' coming from the elevator.

The door opened and you entered a long hallway. Following Collins, you took a turn to the left and headed to the very end of the level. Apartment 621. The door was open.

Two policemen guarded the entrance, while on the inside a single person was hovering around.

Lucky guess: Mike.

You returned the tablet to Collins and marched in. From a big bag with crime scene utensils, you took a pair of gloves and put them on quickly.

You wouldn't want to have a mess like yesterday, so you picked up another pair and threw them at Connor, who caught them with surprised eyes. But he put them on. Then you went on to Mike.

"Ah!" he peeped at you from behind his tinted glasses. "So you've brought some backup, Ben?" He lifted his head to peek over your shoulder, Collins was standing right behind you.

"I was sure you could use it," Collins said walking around the scene.

"Always can use some extra eyes!" Mike clapped his bloody, gloved hands together. "Already thought, that would be a lonely day for me. Just me and the two amigos out there."

He pointed at the door-guards and then held his hand up to his mouth, leaning over to you. "Those monkeys, they're no fun at all," he whispered. With a polite laugh, you walked around the kitchen floor, both victims laid on.

The room was tidy and pretty. It had something soft with tender colors. It would be cute if it weren't for the fact that a young girl and her mother gave the floor a ...morbid touch.

Walking around gave you not much more input than it was mentioned in the report already. No fight. Clean slice. Both found in the kitchen. You went through the drawers to look if something might be missing. If the culprit walked in unsuspected, he probably wasn't holding a knife.

Playing with the thought to get a bit more concentrated, in your very own way, you remembered the still slightly lingering headache from this morning. Maybe you should try to get along without it at first. Yesterday was working just fine as well.

As you finished to rummage through the kitchen, there was nothing to find where a knife would have been possibly taken from. Or a scissor, a sharp object or anything else that could fit.

Since the murder weapon proves to be a challenge, you decided to go on with a different task.

There were those basic essentials you always aimed for, if there was nothing stabbing to see at the crime scene. Pun intended.

'What and where is the murder weapon' was usually the first thing you had in mind. The forensic report and the witness said it was a kitchen knife. If it's not from here, it could be that he brought it himself. Like a personal murder-knife.

Next question would be 'Who?'.

Why was there a murder in the first place? Who took part? There is mostly a reason to kill a person, even if it's never a reasonable one. The profile of Maya and her mother says nothing suspicious. Miss Fey was a secretary at a start-up and her daughter was only six and went to first grade. She was raising the kid alone, no father known. No political involvement, no shady business, not even a striking career. Just normal folks.

The culprit, on the other side, is unknown. The witness stated it was a man, but her full statement isn't listed. Apparently, they're still recording the testimonies of the inhabitants.

Walking out of the kitchen, you observed your surroundings.

How did he get in?

He was obviously not entering over the windows since it's the sixth floor. And with all those apartment buildings around, someone would have noticed that. You walked to the front door. And with the attentive eyes of the two guards on you, you knelt down to check the lock. Except for some tiny scratches around the keyhole, there was nothing to be seen as an attempt to break in. It was completely unharmed.

So he was walking in like a normal visitor. So he knew them? Or a person like a pizza guy or something like this.

Hastily standing up, you bumped into Connor who was suddenly standing right behind you. Looking as surprised, as you did.

“I'm sorry,” he said, pushing himself a step away from you. “I was just going to check the door, but you just did, right?” he huffed, with a smile on his face.

You glanced back at the door behind you. “Yeah. No forced entry, so he must have rung the doorbell. The victim let in his own murderer.”

If the culprit was legally here, he had to leave some tracks behind, right? Wouldn't it be suspicious if he hadn't touched anything?

Connor pondered, “There are no people listed, who would stand in a close relationship with the Feys. Could it be a stranger? Some neighbor asking for something, or a home visit maybe?”

“Yeah, I had that in mind, too. But just because it's not recorded it doesn't mean there are none...I think we should keep that in mind and move to the next step,” you proposed.

“Then we should take a look at the remaining rooms. Mike hadn't had the time to take a look at everything. He just finished the kitchen and the living room, respectively.”

So the other rooms were completely untouched? How's that possible? It happened almost an hour ago, why is the crime scene taken so little care of? Then again, the inhabitants had to be questioned, and it was a big building. But since when has the DPD a jam of labor?

By the way, you shouldn't forget interrogating them later.

“Should we investigate the bedroom or the child's room first? Or the bathroom perhaps?” Connor asked.

“Maybe it's more efficient if we split up. So I do the mother's bedroom, and you can do the child's room,” you assigned the tasks. He needed a second before he replied with a quick 'sure' and you both split up. He didn't seem so fond of your suggestion.

Standing in the open door, you switched on the lights. It was cute and lively, with a sweet feminine touch. A bit like one of those pictures from a Better Living Magazine. A big bed, fairy lights in the bookshelf and a fluffy carpet. You felt like you had to take off your shoes.

With your shoes staying on, you walked around, snooping. You opened the wardrobe. As expected, it was filled with normal, but pretty clothes. Everything from pullover to dress, but only clothes. At the very back of a shelf, you found a box.

With a yank, you pulled it from behind the scarfs, belts, and whatnot's, and put it on the bed. Lifting the lid, you blinked at its content and quickly closed it again.

“Oh,” you murmured to yourself. Feeling the temperature of your face rising, you placed the box with the adult-stuff back to its right place. Yes, of course. She was allowed to. Single parent, sure. But you weren't expecting that right now.

Maybe it was a good idea that Connor didn't see that. He didn't look like the person to handle that kind of stuff. On the other side, you could be wrong about that. Maybe he wasn't as innocent as he looked. He was an adult after all...

Okay, stop.

You hurried to go on with the dresser next to the bed. Pulling out each and every drawer, you inspected the content. The first shelf was filled with socks and underwear, while the second was full of cables, notepads, handkerchiefs, and other trivia. The last drawer, the lowest one, had clothes in it, too. But different.

Those were men's clothes. Some T-shirts, some pants, socks, underwear. You could think that someone else has lived here, too. But why was there no record of it? Maybe a fresh relationship, so they barely met? But the clothes indicated that he was here often.

You continued to examine the shelf. The one with the fairy lights on it. It was up to the ceiling and all kinds of things found its place on it. Some hairstyle utensils, a small box with jewelry, a box filled with letters and postcards, photographs of her and her daughter. And an envelope filled with money. On its cover, the name 'Maya' was written. So it was likely, that her mother was saving some money for her little girl.

Nothing unusual, but that means, that it was no robbery. And the jewelry was still there, too.

You didn't exactly like where that was going.

Just to be thorough, you went through the boxes that were placed on the shelf, as well. A tablet to read books, cards, marbles, things for crafting like glitter, glue, and scissors, also paper. Mostly, they were things she kept out of the girl's reach, like matches or technology. On the very top, the last box waited for you, but you were too small to reach for it.

Instead of calling for help, you joggled on the shelf to see if it was steady enough to hold you, and it looked just okay. You placed your foot on the plank and held onto the frame. Then you stretched your whole body to get it.

You shouldn't be, but you were surprised when the shelf, with you on it, tumbled over and buried you under it, as it collided with the floor.

And dear God, that hurt badly.

The loud bang wasn't left unnoticed and within seconds, you heard footsteps. The shelf, that was pressing down your lungs, was raised, and two hands pulled you into the safe distance. Adjusting your view, you blinked away the pain. It wasn't too bad, but it will leave a bruise or two.

“Are you okay?” Now you firstly noticed, that Connor was the one that pulled you out from under the rack. He leaned down over your shoulder.

“Sure. Just a scratch,” you mumbled, crawling up to the shelf, searching for the thing you looked for.

“What happened?” he asked, standing up.

You dug through the spilled things. “I looked,” toys, earrings, charger, “for a box. It laid on the top,” marbles, boxes, “It was too high to get it.” A lamp, a battery, paper.

“Here!” You grab a frame and turn it around, while Connor was kneeling down next to you.

A photo showed Maya and her mother, together with another person. A man. Could that be her boyfriend? Probably. The photography was never older than a year.

“Do you think he was it?” Connor asked, scrabbling through the mess himself.

“They talked about a man,” you concluded. “And in the dresser are men's clothes. Could be his size, too.”

You truly disliked the thought of the boyfriend killing his girlfriend and her daughter.

“And on top of that, he was obviously no intruder. There was no fight and no break in,” Connor looked into the 'Maya'-envelope and dropped it again, “and no robbery.”

You placed your hands in your lap, watching Connor examining the pile of stuff. So if her boyfriend rang the doorbell, came in, had a lovely chat with his family, and then killed them, why would he do that? Would you do such a thing out of anger?

Like some fight? 'Oh honey I'm sorry, let's talk. Hah just kidding I'm here to kill ya! BANG! SLICE! BLOOD! DEAD!'

Hopefully not.

Connor picked up a small booklet, made of paper. Like real paper. Made of wood. From a tree.

You leaned closer, peering in. “Connor, what is that?”

Sketches, Constructive pictures, and instructions. It was printed black and white but someone clearly took notes with a bullet pen.

“It's a repair manual. The early models were constructed a bit simpler, so it was possible to mend minor damage, like scratches, on one's own. Replacing certain biocomponents was possible, too, if I'm not mistaken,” Connor illustrated.

Now that he mentioned it, some of the parts looked similar to the components Connor taught you about. But why did Karen had such a thing?

“If that actually worked on him? If she managed to patch him up with that, she must have been a skilled woman,” Connor noted.

“What do you mean? Who was being patched up?” You stood up cleaning your pants from dust.

“When the revolution started, he was probably getting into trouble and got injured. Downloading a tutorial to repair a broken MX300 would have caught the governments attention. She found a good band-aid. Literally.”

Wait what?

“So that means, that Karen had a relationship... with an android?”

How is that supposed to work?

Connor faced you with wide eyes, “Um, yeah?” He pointed at the frame. “That man in the middle is an MX300 android. It's a rarer model since he is an older series, so you probably didn't recognize one of them walking around the streets.”

You unwillingly clenched your jaw, setting on a bitter face. Why would a human have a long-term relationship with an android? Yeah, there were those crazy people with their sex-androids, but like... a real relationship? Could that be healthy?

“Something wrong, Amelia?”

You took a few steps backward. “Sure. I mean, you know, no. Nothing.” You placed your hands in your pockets. “I'll go down and check on the hallway. Interrogating some inhabitants.” And you left.

Facing the floor, you hurried through the front door, hoping those guys don't ask questions. Luckily, they let you pass without a second thought. The hallway was still empty. At the end of the corridor, you waited for the lift, snapping your gloves.

Maybe she was really lonely and that's why she fell in love with a robot. Nevertheless, it was hard to tell if they were human or not, they were constructed to blend in, so maybe there were people who didn't make a difference.

The elevator door opened and you stepped in.

And just like Connor, lots of people believed they were alive, so it might be not such an absurd idea.

You pressed the button for the main level.

But could you fall for a machine? Could a machine fall for you? How could a staple of wires and coding understand the mess of love?

Though, in the end, he wasn't that loving at all.

A bright 'ping', and the door opened, letting you out into the fraught entrance hall. Snapping around with your gloves, you wondered where to start. Stretching out your head, you looked for an officer. Maybe you should take off the gloves, for now, made a weird first impression, yet it was the only visible indicator, that you belonged to the authorities. Seeing one of a bunch of faces, that could actually remember you, you headed over to Officer Jennifer Lawson. Jenny.

Jenny was standing with her back to you, in front of an elderly woman, recording her testimony.

“Oh Yikes! And I just can't believe how my sweet daughter must have felt seeing that man. And all this blood!” She shuddered in disgust. “And I always thought of him as a lovely young man!”

Jenny nodded, saving the recorded testimony. “Thank you very much, Mam. You can go back to your apartment now and don't worry, I'm sure with the misery will be dealt with in no time.”

The woman took Jenny's hands. “ I thank you so much. And good luck!” And with that, she toddled down to the elevator. As Jenny turns around to watch her leave, she noticed you standing behind you.

Her eyes rested on yours, and she kept staring a moment before her lips curled into a pleased smile.

“Amelia! You're lookin' good!” she beamed at you. “So you're back in the saddle? Good for you. I was afraid they wiped you from the blackboard.”

“Good to see you, Jenny.” You took a step closer. “Say Jenny, was that just the mother from the person who called the police?” Your thumb pointed at the lift.

“Um, yeah,” she chuckled, “How did you know that?”

You liked Jenny. She was one of those people who adored your weird sense for retentiveness. In this situation, it was easy, though.

“She said her daughter saw the man, and the emergency call was from a woman, who visited her mother. No science.”

You scanned the crowd if you could see the elderly lady again, but she was gone. She would have been the perfect start to question the witnesses. But until you found her apartment, it could take a while. Maybe, you should go and check on the others.

Jenny held her tablet up to your nose.

“What is that?”

“Science.”

She had a smart grin on her face, one arm resting on her hip, the other one waving the tablet before your eyes.

“Take your time, I was diligent today. 20 records. All listed with name and address,” Jenny proudly offered, handing you her tablet.

That could become extremely handy. And save so much time. But you were also worried that lending equipment to you, would get her in trouble since she wouldn't be able to work. And with the still crowded hall in mind, it was still a lot to do.

“Is that okay?”

She took out her phone, and a pair of headphones. “Of course. I'll just have to transfer it to the tablet later on. Don't worry.” She gave you the headphones. “Here.”

You breathed a staggered, “Thank you,” and Jenny went for the next inhabitant to interview.

With a content smile, you sat down on a free spot on the floor and began to open the lady's statement. A black screen with a play-icon appeared and you pressed play. Closing your eyes you concentrated on the recording.

“This is Officer Jennifer Lawson, it's 12:29 am, the date is February the 3rd 2039. Mam, Please state your name and address.”

“I'm Agatha Stetson, and I live at apartment 609.”

“Mrs. Stetson, please tell me what you can say about the man, your daughter saw passing by the corridor this morning,” Jenny requested.

“As you wish Dear, it's still hard to digest. My daughter was paying me a visit, but before she left she heard footsteps. Nosy little thing she was, she peered through the peephole. But that is something I can't hold against her, what do you think who raised her like that?

"Very well, so while I was packing her Lunchbox, you should know, she has a very long way home, she was getting her jacket, and she heard the footsteps and ran to me whispering 'Mother, I think we should call the police' and I asked her 'why my Dear? What happened?' But at this point she already dialed 911.

"She told the officer to hurry because of a man who-, what am I saying, You probably know what she said. Anyways, she told me it was the nice man living at the end of the corridor."

"So the suspect lives here? Do you recall his apartment number?" Jenny inquired.

"Of course I do! It's apartment 621."

"So you're telling me, that the suspect was living with the victims?"

"Yeah, well actually he was gone for a long time. Since the occurrences in November, he wasn't seen around here anymore. Maybe it was better that way. He wouldn't be safe here at times of hardship. To be honest I was afraid he might have lost his life at the revolution."

There was a pause.

"Just thinking about that he might have killed his beloved one and the little girl. They were so sweet. When I was younger we called it 'shipping' when you enjoyed seeing two people being together. And I can tell you, I was shipping so hard.

"She was a nurse at the emergency room in midtown and had to take long night shifts. The father was never seen around, so she often had to ask for a babysitter. She had begged me multiple times to take care of her for a night or two. Naturally, she missed her daughter, but what choices did she have? Everyone who had a job was lucky to earn some money. But it was no life like that.

"One day, there was this man. In the middle of the night, she brought him home while I was taking care of the kid. He was damaged. This- This blue blue blood was everywhere. He collapsed on the floor but she patched him up again. And from that day on they were always together.

"When Maya got used to him, he was taking care of her. They went to the park a lot and often played pirates, Maya's favorite game. After a while, he was the father she never had. It was heartbreaking sometimes. They fought and made it up again, went out for movies, went grocery shopping and when they needed some time for themselves, they asked me to take care of Maya for an evening. It seemed like everything was turning for the better.

"But it was not for long. The revolutionary raised their voices and the people got suspicious towards every creature, they couldn't understand. I knew he was alive. No creation can be that imperfect to be that lovely. But the people didn't understand. They hated them because they were different. He had to leave. It wasn't save for him anymore to be with her and the little girl. She begged him to run for his life but the only thing he wanted was to stay by their side. In the end, he had no choice.

"The media reported permanently about the ongoing marches. And when the cruelties came to an end, I hoped he would return to his spouse, but he never came back. Until this morning.

"Miss Lawson, I hope you see why I just can't believe what he should have done. He loved her with all his heart, even if it was from a different nature than hers. I cannot explain why he should do such a crime," she tried to convince Jenny.

"Mrs. Stetson, I know it's a lot, but we won't accuse anyone before we can be absolutely sure that he's guilty. So don't worry. And for the unexpected case that he shows up anytime soon, please stay in a safe distance and contact us. You might know him as a sweet person, but people can change." Jenny was trying to comfort her in her own professional way.

"You're right, Dear. You never know. I'm glad he wasn't running into us as we left for the taxi. Oh Yikes! And I just can't believe how my sweet daughter must have felt seeing him like that. And all this blood! I hope this will have a logical explanation."

The recording ended here.

You had to let that sink. Staring at the black screen, you listened to the white noise coming from your headphones, deafening the loud mumbling from the entrance hall.

So the man that was seen this morning, blood on his clothes and a blade in his hands, was Karen Fey's lover, an android, who was sweeter than a bag of cherries.

How did that happen?

She was talking about that the revolution was forcing him to leave, and you already knew about the cruelties they did to the androids in this one November night. Maybe he had PTSD? Could androids get something like that?

Nevertheless, it was important to know that he wasn't present for a long time. The revolution was nearly 3 months ago, where had he been all the time in between? Android or not it needed a factor to change a person's actions like that.

As you silently evaluated the input, you selected the next testimony. And again it started with the same procedure. And after that the next, and the next. Most people just stated that they were coming or going from or to work, staying home because of illness, enjoying their free time or were not working at all. After about 6 other testimonies, you finally hit something interesting.

"Sir, could you please state your name and address?" Jenny started the interview.

"Yeah- Yes of course," his voice was wobbly. "My name is Eddy Loft, and I live here in Vogue Street 1204. My Apartment is the 311."

"Alright. Please tell me what you've seen before, Sir."

He gulped.

"You know, when I was coming home from work, I saw this man. He was living here some time ago. And, and usually, he was really nice. The person that carries your bags. I even gave them my key, to feed my tarantula when I was on vacation. But today he was so... Robotic. I knew he was one of them, but when I talked to him, I never had the feeling of talking to an engine. He was so full of life. Always there to help. But on the contrary to that, today, he was so cold. I was glad to see him again since he was gone for such a long time and happily started a chat, but he didn't respond. He just stood there. Staring at the wall. I'm simply glad that I could step out off the elevator first.”

A moment of silence, then he continued with a shaking whisper, "I saw that knife... Miss, I stood right beside him. Just before ... Before. Before...," he swallowed, "Minutes, maybe only seconds before he killed the mother and her child. Oh if I would have been braver! I had a bad feeling about it! I should have known and now they're dead!"

The man panicked. And the recording was ended since Jenny wasn't able to calm him down. The last thing you heard, was her calling for ambulance.

Under the recording, a small note told you that he was currently under ambulant supervision. So that means you couldn't ask him for further details for now.

With tired legs, you wobbled up to your feet. You shouldn't sit here all the time. Unimportant, if you were actually working or just hanging around, you needed to move. Otherwise, your mind would become slow.

Looking up, you noticed the entrance hall was nearly empty. The last hand full of people was interviewed and after that, they were done. How long did you sit in that corner?

Glancing around, you looked at the people left. A business lady, a street worker, and a lady with crazy dyed hair. A pack of single men, a secretary mother, and two siblings in their 20s. You couldn't point a finger on the last person, who just left. Probably some freelancer, or Starbucks fan-boy.

Picking up the tablet with the headphones, you noticed a business card lying on the floor, right next to where you sat. You picked it up and inspected it.

III

Enjoy

Pansy Pennyroyal

What kind of card was that? Was it advertising something? Or some address? Sounded like a weird hip bar or something...Maybe it belonged to that Starbucks guy. But a glimpse at the hall told you that he was no longer here.

Making your way to the lift, once more, you gave Jenny her recorder and headphones back. It was saving you a lot of time. But it was not the place for a chat, though Jenny and her partner had to go on with their work. The interviews were done, but there was still a murder unsolved.

Back in the elevator, you remembered the statement of Mr. Loft. That guy who collapsed. With a pinch of imagination, you tried to reconstruct the situation.

The knife was in his possession, explaining the fact that there was nothing missing in Miss Fey's apartment. A frozen expression and no intention to respond to his neighbor's conversational attempt. Loft got the message across that he was robotic.

With the knife in his hand, he walked up to apartment number 621. By knocking the door, ringing the bell or with a key of his own, he entered. Then you still had to find out, what exactly happened between this and the time he left.

You suddenly remembered that there was another case you had to talk about. If the manhunt for Anna was successful? If she turned out to have planned the attack on O'Sullivan, the web could only get more complicated.

Then you would have a murder in an alley by a woman, who was an android, who was in a relationship with a man who was in a karaoke strip bar, where another man had messed with the owner, that was a drag queen, who turned out to be the guy because of whom you need to go to Mrs. Johannson's in Deleware Street every freaking Tuesday afternoon.

Tired, by the simple thought of thinking about this mess, you leaned against the metallic wall.

Your train of thought was interrupted by the opening door, reflexively, you set to step out, until you noticed, that this was only the second level. A person hopped in.

With lethargic steps, he stood by you and pressed the button for floor 10. His sloth stance was surpassed only by his nonparticipant face. Avoiding a stare, you glanced up to the ceiling.

“Hey Miss,” he spoke with a sluggish speed. “What's the business with those cops all over? Someone got caught selling the goods?” he chuckled to himself. At first, you couldn't tell if he was actually talking to you since he was straightly looking at the wall in front of him. His eyes lackluster, he was at best thirty years old.

“...um, no.” His dullness surprised you. By now, everyone should know what happened here. “Do you live here?”

“No.”

Why wasn't he interviewed by the police? Did he sneak in or just missed running into an officer. He smelled like weed, though. Looking at his eyes, he wasn't under drugs influence, like you initially thought. So was he always like that?

“Then what are you doing here?”

No reaction.

“...and your name?”

“Dan.”

You felt like pulling teeth. “...And some kind of last name?”

“Yes. I have that kind of thing.”

Why is recently everyone assuming that he doesn't have to answer your questions? One last person who is so moody and you lose it. It's no tea party, it's a crime scene. People died. So answer the damn questions!

“It's got nothing to do with cannabis, at least not today. A woman and her daughter were found dead and we are looking for the culprit. Can you say anything that might be helpful for that matter?” your bossy voice was showing again.

Now he was turning his head to face you. It wasn't exactly a facial expression but you could have sworn, that his eyes twitched up a bit.

“On the sixth?” he panted.

“On the sixth.”

“Oh man, that's super sad, bro. I mean, Mam. I really liked them. The girl was baking really tasty brownies. Without the magic ingredients of course, but still...,” Dan was turning down his voice again. It gave away the impression, that he was already exhausted by that little outburst of emotion. “That explains why Mr. Roboto was in such a hurry.”

At the moment the display showed the 6th floor, the door opened again. What did he say? You placed your foot at the door gap.

With weary eyes, he looked at you. “What's wrong?”

“I'm Detective Rockland, Detroit Police. I have to insist on you coming with me. I'd like you to answer some questions.”

You waited for a reaction, but there was none. After a suppliant gesture, for him to step out, he left the elevator and you stood in the hallway.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked unconcerned, as you took out your smartphone. You huffed sharply.

“For cannabis? No, not my division. But you saw something and I want to know everything about it,” you insisted, holding the recorder right under his face.

Glimpsing down at the recorder he gives you an impassive look. “About what?”

“You just admitted, that you saw the main suspect, please outline what happened.”

“Um, I saw him. That's true.”

“And when? And where?” you couldn't stand it when people spoke so slow, that you heard your own blood pumping before you heard a clear answer.

“At...noon? Downstairs.”

You sighed deeply. What was happening here? Maybe he saw him leaving, and all he did was saying one word per question. For that reason, you preferred bubbly, lively people who talk too much.

“I mean the underground parking garage,” Dan corrects himself. He felt visibly bad, that he was annoying you. Now you were the one feeling bad for it.

“Thank you,” you brushed away a strand of hair, “But could you illustrate it in detail?”

“I came to the garage and when I wanted to go in, that robo-dude came along and pushed me aside. Not bothered by that, he walked up to a car, waiting right there, stepped in, and the car drove off. I think he had some stains in his face. Like dirt? Couldn't see it clearly, though.”

“Did you saw someone else in that car?”

“Yes. I don't know how the person looked like, but I saw a shadow. It was one of those... old cars.”

So he had some sort of partner? So it was thoughtfully planned. With old cars, he probably meant a car with driver. Not the automatic things.

“Dan, when you knew, that the police was here, why didn't you report that?” you inquired.

“Wouldn't be the first time I'd get into trouble without a reason. If I had known that the little girl died, I might have thought about it, but like that...”

Dan seemed to have serious trust issues towards the Detroit Police. He didn't look like a bad person, so you wouldn't want him to get into trouble for hiding from the police. Such a confluence can be pretty intimidating at times. You'll remember his face since you had no real name to memorize.

“Do you recall the license plate?”

“ACS 6972”

You blinked. “How could you recall it like that?” 

“I thought it was funny. It's a meme thing.”

Anyway, you needed to go 'downstairs' to examine the underground garage further. But if you're here already, you should inform Connor about what you learned. Essentially, you were supposed to work together, not each on his own.

But who are you to complain. After all, you were the one suggesting to split up in the first place.

You and your crisis of faith. You still had problem to process the concept of human and android in a romantic relationship. It just didn't leave you alone, especially with this box hidden in the back of her closet. It made you seriously nervous.

“Miss?” You hummed a short response. “Do you think he did it?”

You couldn't actually say for sure. Like Jenny said before, you couldn't accuse someone if you didn't have proof. And currently, you had the lore of the sweet young man colliding with the cold expressionless robot. He was the only one you could suspect, but you needed to catch him before you could even put him into jail. Of course, everything was screaming 'he is guilty', but was that enough? Maybe Connor knew more about how to catch a renegade android.

Were androids even sent to jail?

“It was blood, was it? On his clothes. It wasn't dirt,” Dan concluded.

“We don't know yet," you said, facing the ground. "If there is anything you notice or a thing you might remember. Like a detail. Please call us.” You turned around to head back to the crime scene.

“Okay, but I don't have your telephone number, Miss.”

With squished eyebrows and a mild smile, you turned back.

“It's 911, actually. I thought that was clear.”

“Oh... yeah. But I was just trying to make it smooth, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Your smile faded. What was smooth?

“I was subtly trying to get your phone number...” He shrugged.

It would have been a charismatic attempt, even if hitting on a detective at a murder scene was not the definition of romantic, but his spiritless posture and his slack voice just made it sound... indifferent.

“Oh, em. You know that I'm a Detective at work right?”

He shrugged again. It was really hard not to fall in love with a man who fought for your attraction with so much blood, sweat, and tears.

“I think that's cool. And you're hot, so why not.”

...you were easily embarrassed when it comes to sweet talk, but that was just... Was he serious right now?

You heard swift steps behind you.

“There you are,” Connor exclaimed, coming to a halt right next to you. “I knew I heard your voice over the corridor,” he smiled.

Noticing Dan standing in front of you he gave a greeting nod. Dan just... You weren't sure if he did anything.

Holding on to your shoulders, Connor turned you to face him. “There are some things we have to discuss, maybe we should go.” Eyes fixated on you, he waited for a response.

You glimpsed over to Dan, you didn't want to be rude. But seeing his listless eyes, scanning the ceiling, you were certain, you wouldn't break his heart by leaving. Not that you agreed on anything.

Turning back to Connor, you nodded, reaping a content beam.

“Well, Sir, thank you for your cooperation. If there is anything, you can always call 911,” Connor bowed himself off.

Maybe you should consider saying clearly 911 the next time, too.

Dan threw back his head a bit as a good-bye gesture and returned to the elevator. As you made sure he was gone, you faced Connor.

“So what's the matter, Connor?” You started walking down the hall.

“The android left no traces of a fight at the crime scene, right?”

“Sure.”

“There were remains of a poison found in their blood.”

“They've been drugged?”

“And then killed, right. A drug made of a combination of very different kinds of chemical substances. We don't know it's real name," Connor explained, “but Mike is currently making up one.”

Back in the apartment you heard him already mumbling to himself.

“Death of the night. No, too cool. Rose of Poison... Nah. Thundercat! Tongueslicer? Mike'sMourge: sounds like a bar. Oh man, that's tricky...” Mike was squatting before the packed corpse like he was talking to the dead mother. Fiddling with his hands, he looked somewhat like a maniac.

Okay, not just somewhat.

“He's kind of unique don't you think?” you leaned to Connor. It wasn't intended to sound mean, but … he was.

“Yeah, but I like him.” He smiled again.

What was he so happy about all day? Was it some special date? Good news? Maybe his name was officially changed? Or a good breakfast?

“Ah! Are you back again already, Lil Miss?” He looked at you reproachfully. “You better got some news.”

“Of course.” You lifted your chin, proudly smiling, hands locked behind your back. Sitting down to the table, both of them listened attentively.

Outlining the content of all testimonies, Jenny gave you access to, you remarked the old lady and her relationship towards the loving couple and basically 'their' daughter, the tragedy as he left and the situation of this morning. Then you noted the man, who was now hospitalized because he had a panic attack at it's finest. And how he saw the 'robotic' man and his knife, furthermore, you told them about Dan and the car waiting for the android and the license plate. Especially Connor was pricking up his ears as you talked about the dead attitude of the android.

“That's kind of weird, that's how I would put it,” Mike concluded. “What's your expert opinion on that, Connor?” He folded his hands, expecting an explanation.

Connor, on the other side, blankly laid his eyes on the table. He turned to you. “Would you think it's possible that a deviant looses his free will?” there was worry sounding from his words.

You couldn't possibly state your view on that problematic. All you knew about that topic, was what Connor told you. Yet the suppressed fear in his eyes, made your heart feel weak.

“What makes you think that way?” you felt your way forward.

“An android deviates from a traumatic experience, or like... some, over a longer period of time. They go from 'robotic' to 'human', and apparently, that person was making the same process backward.”

So far so good, but why killing their family?

“Hey man,” Mike interrupted, “don't invite trouble. Maybe he just went bonkers and lost it. Maybe he was angry at them for some reason. Lil' Miss here told you, he was begging the mom to stay. Maybe that was spreading some kind of hatred.”

Connor thought about it, then he jolted up, marching over to the corpses, ripped the body bag opened and pointed at the girl's neck. With unyielding eyes, he gazed at Mike.

“Does that cut look like an act of wrath?” he referred to the perfect clean slice on her neck. “Anger is brisk and spontaneous. This is-”

“It's ...boring,” Mike ended the sentence, realisation in his voice. “Like cutting bread.”

“Strange equation,” you added, “but he's right. It has nothing of a revenge-murder. Looks more like an assassination...” You strolled up to her head and knelt down.

For a while, the room fell silent.

How it must feel to lose one's free will... Being deprived of one's liberty was a common thing. History was full of it. Jail, slavery, submission, forced marriage. But completely losing your will? Not deciding to give up, no. Deprived. Like it's gone forever. That must be frightening.

While you were quietly wondering about all that, Connor and Mike informed the precinct about the license plate. You watched him. Him and his shaking hands. His restless eyes, that suddenly avoided to be looked at.

And for a second, just for the blink of an eye, you had that thought. You marveled, if he was concerned out of benevolence, or if he was afraid for his own safety.

Could that be?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE! It's 3 am and I have to get up at 7am for work and I just took solid 2hours simply correcting the formatting. Since I was trying out the one that's not HTML, It took me some time to get it right. 
> 
> I really really hope you like it, cuz it was hell of a work. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, and though I will try to work as much as possible, I can't promise that next week there will be a chapter, cuz my calender is jam packed.
> 
> Greeting!


	15. Shaking hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's by far not as big as chapter number 14, so don't worry. ;)

February 3rd, 2039

12:34 am

 

“Oh my, she's quite in a hurry huh?” Mike mumbles to himself as he saw you rushing out of the apartment.

Connor was equally surprised about this abrupt escape. With a disbelieving view he joins his colleague in the living room, who glanced through under his funny looking glasses into the hallway. He wasn't quite sure what just happened

Eagerly Mike turned to Connor. “Is she feeling well? Quite thunderstruck, huh? Said something stupid?”

Connor wasn't sure if it was him in particular, but it was definitely something bothering you. Based on the previous conversation you both had, he would guess it's about the romantic relationship between Karen and the renegade android. You probably found it hard to believe such a possibility existed. Even though he can understand your insecurity, when it comes to the overwhelming turnaround of your former worldview, he had to admit that he took your strong reaction personally. It didn't seem like mere rejection.

“I think she avoided stretching our former argument about the peaceful coexistence of androids and humans. She has her restrains with that topic. It's nothing inveterate, but … it makes things complicated,“ Connor said.

Mike's oblong face froze. “ Wait. So,... you're like... not dating?“

What?

Connor twisted his face in confusion. “Of course not.“

“But she's pretty!“ Mike threw his arm at the front door.

“I do not exactly understand what that contributes to this conversation.“

Fascinating that your looks were the first positive argument people seem to think of. Without question, you were pretty, but the first adjective he would have thought of was a different one.

“So you mean you didn't even think, I mean not at least once, think about dating her?“

Connor deliberately pivoted his head, eyes directed to the ceiling.

It's not like he didn't waste a single thought about it. Especially after the conversation with Hank he had to think about it once or twice. Yet he never chased that idea. He didn't even know her. Just a couple of days could never be enough to get to know someone in this way.

But in the end, it took him only a short time to warm up to Hank...

“Gotcha.“

Mike's voice pulled Connor back into the room. The triumphant smirk painting his face fretted him. He couldn't point a finger on the reason for that, though.

“Anyway,“ distracting himself, Connor rubbed his neck, “I actually wanted to show you something, I- I mean before Amelia crushed the shelf.“ An amused huff was non-avoidable. He hurried to the child's bedrooms and came back with a cup of juice.

“Oh that's sweet, but I'm not into OJ“ Mike commented dryly. It took Connor a moment before he got that it was a tedious joke.

“I wouldn't exactly recommend drinking that. It contains a fast-acting neurotoxin,“ Connor said nonchalant, placing the cup on the table.

Inspecting the cup, Mike was about to take examples and scan the liquid with his equipment. But that wasn't necessary anymore. Dissuading him from his intention, Connor covered the cup with his hand, making the confused forensic look up.

“The juice contains traces of strong extracts from an artificial crossing of various Euphorbiaceae, a diverse plant family that is spread all over the world. The contained toxin causes dizziness, disorientation and fainting spells. The British University of Biochemistry reported successful therapies with the active ingredient to alleviate sleep and eating disorders. The substance was diluted in a ratio of 1 to 100. Just a few drops are enough to stun a full-grown human. The effect lasts several hours.”

Mike's eyes wandered around. He didn't quite know what to do with the abundance of information.

Albeit Connor found the profile of this neurotoxin overly entertaining, he could tell that his friend did not share his commitment. After an, even for Connor, unpleasantly long look-exchange, Mike reached into his bag and pulled out a strange device.

„What do you have there?“ Connor asked as Mike pushed a couple of buttons.

„This little baby here,“ he stepped over one of the bodies, „is Jerald. It's the low-budget version of... well, of you.“

He held it over the victim and a faint green light drew over the body. A dull signal suggested that the scanner was evaluating the results. It took a long time. He himself would already be finished, even if he enjoyed not having to do the computer work. And apparently, Mike was quite happy to use his new equipment.

Connor wondered from which company it was because the design surely wasn't created by Cyberlife, which were usually taking care of the police equipment.

After a short time, the device had produced a result. Checking the screen, Mike's face was left of any kind of frame. With dropped jaw, he stared at the display.

“What is it?” With a long neck, Connor tried to peek on the screen. Mike turned it to his direction.

'CARBON' was written on the charmless screen.

Mike pressed his lips together and gave Connor a stern look. „Carbon,“ he parroted the computer's answer. „Well, Fuck you too Jerald!“ he spat at the screen, „Just fuck you!“

Connor guessed that Jerald was supposed to analyze the substances of the wished body to help the forensic profile. Carbon was indeed expected to be in that human, carbon-based life form. But that was probably not the total capacity of performance it was anticipated to provide.

“Well, basically,“ Connor interrupted Mike's little crisis, “he's not wrong.“

"Oh don't protect him now! He should recognize that it is a human being and based on this he should filter out and emphasize the data and suspicious substances in the body!” Defeated, he held his head and with a deep sigh he asked: “If you could be so kind...“

Without further ado Connor knelt down to the victim and stroked with two fingers the blood from the open wound, leading it to his tongue. With over a thousand different pieces of information, he wrote a report.

Mike carefully watched Connor analyzing the blood. With big, marveling eyes.

“I wish I could do that...“

Now Connor had all sorts of data from cholesterol levels to blood counts. And in fact, there were residues of the neurotoxin in the mother's body. Wiping off the gloves you gave him, he got up. With a silent nod, he confirmed its detection. Mike only responded with a stale laugh.

“Well little Jerald,” he spoke to his dysfunctioning computer, “You just don't stand a chance against Cyberlife's masterpiece, am I right?”

Even though Connor felt flattered, he didn't get why he was using an inexpensive version and not the first choice of the technology market.

“Hey Mike, can I ask why you use seconds if it's not working correctly? Why not use the upscale equipment?” He threw the contaminated glove into the trash bin.

“Um, yeah it's... Cyberlife kinda...," Mike was wriggling for an answer, "...stopped cooperating.” He grabbed one of the big body bags and walked over to the girl. Connor helped him unzipping.

“What do you mean 'they stopped?' The police are one of Cyberlife's biggest source of revenue.” He stretched the bag on the floor.

“You know, they refuse to support us with their technology any longer. Apparently, they hold a grudge.” One grabbing her feet and one at her shoulders, they yanked her up and placed the body in the plastic bag.

Connor frowned. “What grudge? The police were very supportive of Cyberlife's attempts to quell lasts year's revolution. They have no reason to cut their ties...”

Mike zipped the bag. “Yeah, listen, Connor... it's not official, Cyberlife gave no actual statement to that..., but we think they are angry that the DPD kind of ...kept working with you?”

Cyberlife stopped working with the executive force of the government to show their anger over a disobedient android? Why?

Of course, they were deprecating the fact that the revolution took them their number one product that made them the global market leader in every technological field. But after they had to stop producing and selling androids, they had to report a drop.

So why refusing to interact with the police? Even if Connor didn't think of the connection as comprehensible, he had to admit that if the police will have to investigate without the high-quality utensils of Cyberlife, it could mean a regress in their efficiency. It would be unfavorable if he'd be the cause for that.

With the next bag in his hand, Mike adjusted his glasses. “Don't lose your head about it, Connor,” he quieted him. “It's not worth the trouble.”

“Nobody told me,” Connor mumbled with a bewildered undertone. If Hank knew about it?

“Yeah...,” he unzipped the bag, “in the end it's nothing more than just wild guessing. All I know is that I've been working with Cyberlife's marvelous tech-babies and now we have to deal with those second hand Tamagotchi.” He and Connor lifted the second body in the bag. Zipping it up, Mike took his phone to order two stretches to carry out the corpses.

He patted Connor's shoulder, attaching his phone back to his belt. “If they start bitching about losing their pet, they're nothing but miserable. Like that would change anything...” With a lame laugh, he sat on the table.

Connor appreciated the support, yet he couldn't help it. It made him nervous. It took him several weeks to get used to his freedom, and it's still a long way to go.

Without anyone telling him what to do, he was able to decide on his own but also had to make decisions. There was a myriad of possibilities and he was the one to choose his next steps. But a myriad was quite a number. It was simply... much.

Having this freedom was somehow intimidating, but the thought of losing it all was even worse. The feeling of knowing Cyberlife holding a resentment toward him was smothering.

Mike took out a small granola bar from his pocket and started to munch. His feet were swinging down the table and his eyes wandered around, inspecting the interior design.

“It's lovingly furnished, am I right?” Connor commented on the kitchen, practicing some small talk.

He wasn't very good at it, but it got better every day. Hoping for some response, Mike turned around, chewing granola. He wore a serious face and with narrowed eyes he said:

“I don't get why you didn't tell her...”

This somewhat out of context statement was more descriptive than Connor would have liked. He knew very well what he was talking about, but still, it threw him a little off track that Mike made his own observation on it.

With a dry throat, he fidgeted around with his sleeves. Was he that obvious?

“I'm going to tell her. I just wait for a good opportunity,” he excused himself, ”A moment when I have time to explain myself. It's probably not that easy to understand it in the first place. You saw how she reacts when it comes to androids before.”

Mike bit into the bar. “But that's your chance to show her that she's wrong," his words were a bit incomprehensible with the cereals in his mouth, "You can prove to her that you and your people are more than just objects for sale." He threw his hands in the air. "What an opportunity! And even if she ends up being narrow-minded, you can always hop off. It's not like you're glued to each other. If it's not working out with you guys she will be back on her own cases, at her own desktop. No harm was done."

He wasn't entirely wrong with that. Indeed he was right. Technically, there was no reason to be afraid. No matter how you would react, it would have no further impact on his life. If she's fine with it: Great! If she's not: Too bad. 

But whenever he thought about it, he had this weird feeling. Something he couldn't describe.

Anyways, isn't she befriended with this Reed guy?”

That cue made Connor rethink a question he dealt with before. And this was the incomprehensible fact that you liked Gavin.

And that would mean that he was capable of being a nice person. At least to some people. Exclusively humans, he supposed.

He had to have another side, not just the asshole attitude he showed to Hank and him. If he wasn't mistaken it could be that you and Reed had shared interests. If it wasn't for the sole work relationship, you probably had things in common. Humor, activities, and values could be compatible.

And if you really shared your values, Mike could have been right.

Maybe it wasn't going to turn out well. But no matter how valid Mike's argument was, he didn't want that stop seeing you was an option.

“By the way,” Mike mumbled with a full mouth, “Where is she? She's been gone a while now.”

Just at this moment, Connor heard voices echoing over the hallway, which was so silent before.

“I was subtly trying to get your phone number...,” a strange voice said.

“Oh, um. You know that I'm a Detective at work, right?”

He recognized your voice, noticing an uneasy emphasis in your tone. It was a queer question that man was offering you.

Normally you don't get the personal contact details of a detective. You had to call 911 and then you would be connected with the person if she's available. To bluntly ask for one's cell phone number was simply rude.

“We need a name for that poison...,” Mike muffled into his hand. Not paying attention, Connor quickly left the apartment and marched down the corridor. The voices became louder.

“I think that's cool...,” the man replied. “And you're hot, so why not.”

Suddenly Connor became a precise idea of why he wanted to call her on her private phone and not at the office. Pacing around the corner, he hastened his walk. Now you were in his range of vision.

An anemic person was trying to court his partner and he wasn't exactly embracing the idea of it. You were at work. You had to be focused.

“There you are,” Connor called, stopping right beside you, “I knew I heard your voice over the corridor.” Covering the very basic formalities of politeness, he greeted the stranger and then approached you.

Cautiously holding you by your arms, he turned you to look away from the man and face him instead.

“There are some things we have to discuss, maybe we should go.” He suggested, waiting for an answer, he realized how sleep-deprived your eyes were.

Small circles were formed under them, and your conjunctiva was streaked with little veins shimmering through the white of your eyes.

Hopefully, you were alright, he was getting worried about you this morning. A light headache was nothing to lose one's mind about if it's not occurring frequently, but when he thought of your dizzying headaches like that, he was worried that something was wrong.

A hesitant nod on your part and you said goodbye to the stranger.

With your serious face, you turned to him and asked for the news he had noticed. It was no urgent matter, but he preferred you staying with him.

Illustrating the clues he and Mike found, you strolled back to the apartment. His hand was still lingering on your arm.

Although he was presumptively experiencing physical touch in a different way than you would, he liked it. Perhaps you didn't even realize his touch, but it felt right. Lastly, he lowered his arm again, letting go of you.

For his proportions, Mike reacted pretty moping to your return. He was a team player and couldn't stand fighting and leaving your teammates alone with their work, yet he was neither a resentful nor an austere person. After he briefly rebuked you, you began to talk.

The two listened attentively as you told the story of the android and his family. From the misfortune where the android was damaged and the woman brought him shelter, over the time they lived together as a family, to the day he had to run.

To listen to such a touching narrative made Connor feel proud. That was what Markus and Jericho fought for. That was what he fought for. That those who wanted to be together can be together and no one has to leave their beloved behind.

There will no more heartbreaking partings. No more sad endings. Not like before.

Connor wondered if he ever met that man before. If he was with Jericho? If he had friends during the revolution or was he alone? Their reunion, on the other side, was more than arduous.

The mentally fragile witness, you told him about, reported about a coldheartedness coming from him. Connor knew about the vicious consequences of the protest. Both sides had to regret loss. People died and lots of people took lasting harm. Those who are still alive had trouble to step back into their daily lives, or to start one.

It would be reasonable if that android had experienced a certain trauma or suffers from deep damage. Was he malfunctioning?

It was not usual to loosen from one's social bonds in such a very permanent way, and no matter how hard Connor tried to conceive a replicable scenario, he couldn't let go of the thought that under those circumstances, it made the impression that he was ...reversed.

From a free-living person to an obedient machine. His heart tightened by the mere idea.

“That's kind of weird, that's how I would put it,” Mike concluded. “What's your expert opinion on that, Connor?” Connor wasn't listening. He was too distracted by his own thoughts right now.

If it would be a hack or a reset, it could mean that someone was trying to reboot the androids. But that couldn't possibly work, right? It wouldn't reach so deep that you would obey to kill the ones you love, would it? Connor turned to face you.

“Would you think it's possible that a deviant looses his free will?” He did his best to sound neutral. Calm. Professional. But in your eyes, Connor saw that he was showing weakness.

“What makes you think that way?” you placed your words with caution. Did he look that bleak?

“An android deviates from a traumatic experience, or like... some, over a longer period of time. They go from 'robotic' to 'human', and apparently, that person was making the same process backward,” he explained it.

It was silly to ask you for your opinion on that. You didn't know much about androids and Connor was sure you didn't even care. But he wanted to include you. He wished to hear what you thought.

“Hey man,” Mike interrupted, “don't invite trouble. Maybe he just went bonkers and lost it. Maybe he was angry at them for some reason. Lil' Miss here told you, he was begging the mom to stay. Maybe that was spreading some kind of hatred.”

Blankly staring at a single spot, he synthesized his ideas. There was something bothering the whole time. From the second he set a foot into that room.

He jolted up, marching over to the corpses, ripped the body bag opened and pointed at the girl's neck. With unyielding eyes, he gazed at Mike.

“Does that cut look like an act of wrath?” he referred to the perfect clean slice on her neck.

It was bothering him because it was too expected. An android normally would be expected to leave clean handwriting, a clean crime scene and to act robotic. But it wasn't a machine anymore. The person that left that wound should have emotions and – and this...

“Anger is brisk and spontaneous. This is-”

“It's boring,” Mike ended the sentence. “Like cutting bread.”

“Strange equation,” you added, “but he's right. It has nothing of a revenge-murder. Looks more like an assassination...” You went up to her head and leaned down.

One last time he looked down to the dead body.

Was it really true? He wished for a mistake, but it felt real. Paralyzed by his own mind, he drifted back to the days when his decisions were not his own. Like a train passing through at a railroad station, hundreds of images speeded past him.

He could feel the cold wind burning on his skin. He made it. He freed himself that day. He did. They were gone. He was free.

But now there was fear running through his veins.

He suddenly felt so weak. He hated being scared. He hated how his hands were shaking and how his legs felt feeble. They cannot see how scared he was. Not like that. It wasn't rational to overreact like this. It was not useful. He wanted it to stop. The shaking, the fear and his racing heart, and he grabbed his hands tight.

It was awful.

This discouraging trembling was preventing clear thoughts. It was impeding. Why was he so afraid? It's alright. Nothing's going to happen. It's alright. It's alright. It's okay.

Just breathe.

“Connor, are you okay?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again it's 3am.
> 
> My schedule's getting more relaxed and I will try to update tomorrow. ( I hate myself for promising this.) I thank you for reading my little story and because of the fact that the plot is just developing at the moment, I wanted to hurry up with writing a bit more. It's still a long way to go and I think it's more enjoyable for all of us if I get my sh*t together and get my words written down.
> 
> I was actually thinking about quitting to write in englisch and restart in my native language on a different website. just for the sake of saving time and afford. But then I realized that romance sounds really weird in German for me. It just sounds sweeter and I'd pretty soon loose interest if I wouldn't have such a big platform to submit my work.
> 
> I still can't believe that 2thousand people saw my story... I know it's measured differently on the Internet but just imagine a room filled with 2 thousand people...Holy. (And some people even liked it!)
> 
> Anyway, I wish you a peaceful night, or day, or morning. And I'd be interested in where my dear readers come from. Would you mind to give me a approx location? 
> 
> Meesa coming from Germany near Berlin.


	16. The scissor cuts the 8 in halves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, can't believe I made it. I feel good! :D
> 
> ...and tired :U

February 3rd, 2039

1:20pm

 

“Hey man, how about you sit down a minute.” With a determinant push, Mike shoved him in a chair.

Dropping his shoulders, he held on tight to his own hands. Staring at the floor, he wasn't able to interact. There were worry and fright, but close to that, you recognized that he was also thinking. Climbing across the corpses, you repeated your question

“Connor, you're not feeling well?” Leaning down an inch, you were searching for his eyes.

Was it a valid reaction to be thrown of the track like this? It was a simple theory, nothing more.

Anyway, how was this supposed to work? It's not like androids have a magic USB-port where you place a stick in and download a virus. But Connor knew more about them than you did.

From the current point of view, you got the feeling that it was even more than just knowledge. Connor absently shook his head.

“No, No I'm fine.”

It was odd, wasn't it? You would think that it's rather disturbing when your friends are threatened by a mystic stranger, who found a way to turn androids obedient again.

So far, so good. That would be horrible.

But the whole situation would look differently if you're the one in trouble. Then worry would turn into fear.

But he certainly would have told you that, wouldn't he? He wouldn't have concealed it. He was too sincere for that. He was trustworthy. Like he'd present you such a big lie.

That couldn't be.

Yet, it would be an answer to his weird behavior when you asked him about his backstory. Or the time he wikipediated you the translation from meter to inch.

Was Connor one of them? Or did you just lost your mind right now?

Obviously, it was a terrible revolution and that is nothing that just passes by. Especially not those, who've been there at the front row. Technically, it would be completely reasonable if it's killing him.

Although, not knowing him for long, you expected your insight into human nature to be better than that. Maybe you just made a lot of fuss about nothing

“It's a troublesome theory we got here...,” Connor declared, “if we don't find clear answers soon, it's just a matter of time before we lose their tracks or there will be more victims. We don't know what they are planning but why would they stop now...” Like someone flicked a switch, he was getting back his confidence.

“Then there is no time to waste,” Mike agreed, taking some steps toward ahead. Giving Connor a meaningful look, he waited for us to follow. “The two birdbrains outside can take care of this place for a minute. I'll tell Collins that he'll meet us in the underground garage...”

While Mike wrote a message to Officer Collins, two stretchers for the dead bodies rolled in. Some staff dudes were apparently taking them to the morgue now.

With a yank, he swung up to his feet and you let the other guys do their work. Down the hall, Mike was primarily tapping around on his phone, and you felt the warmth creeping up under your jacket.

Connor was however appearing stonily. He was back in this posture, he only had when dealing with strangers. What was wrong?

Through the downcast situation, you felt the urge to break the silence.

“Hey, is there anything new about this Anna girl?”

Obviously, Connor did not realize that you were talking to him in the first place. It took him a moment before he was able to eventually direct an asking gaze in your direction.

“She is still missing. And as far as I know, she's been upgraded from a witness to a suspect since we now can expect her to be hiding somewhere.

Her boyfriend on the other side showed up again. He was looking for her as well and wanted to talk to her before we get the chance to do so, but he couldn't find her.

The description of her appearance is matching with the majority of young woman, so it can be quite hard to find her anytime soon. Collins is assigned to deal with her. If you want I can call at the DPD for the newest update, but I checked about 10minutes ago.”

“Are you doing this all the time?”

Connor tilted his head now completely to you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, updating the status. Are you doing this the whole day through?”

Connor's eyes swayed over the room. “Um, I think so. After all its a topic you cannot let slide that easily. Just because we working at a different case right now, doesn't mean that we can forget about the former, unsolved case,” he explained himself, “Just like the thing you noticed that day on Cavalliero's hand.”

Now you were the one cocking your head, wishing for further explanation.

“Last night, you said he was recently handcuffed. And I think about it every now and then. Maybe at one part, I'll have an idea of what that's supposed to mean.”

“Maybe it was a kink thing,” Mike mumbled against his screen.

“It was sore and galled,” you objected, slightly disgusted.

“So what? There is a kink for everything,” he shrugged.

The elevator door opened and you gathered in the small cabin. Going down, you gave thought to the thing Connor mentioned just seconds ago.

You knew it was important to reflect your work and never forget about the clues and testimonies you found and heard, but you weren't sure if you've been following that schematic within the last days.

You had to be more lasting concerning your investigation or you'd miss certain aspects that might be of great value for your work.

Slowly it was getting warmer in the small room under your jacket. And since you had no time to drink any water except the sip of coffee this morning, you felt the heat.

Before you'd start losing your consciousness, you removed your coat. By that, you dropped the small business card you found. Before you even noticed it falling, Connor was already on his knees picking it up.

“You dropped something.” He gave it back to you, but instead of the smile you expected, you got meager eye-contact. He was a bit distant.

Mike was gaping over your shoulder. “What's this?”

The lift opened and Collins stepped in with a joyful attitude. Manifestly, he was in a good mood. In a cheery manner, he joined you in your stifling little room.

“Oh hello! So we go down, I heard?” the old man laughed a bit to himself before he made himself comfortable between you and Connor.

“So?” Mike reminded you, swiping your card to inspect it.

“Oh, right. I found it when I listened to the inhabitant's statements in the lounge. Probably someone lost it. I don't know what it is and to be honest, I nearly forgot about it.”

You felt bad for admitting that you wasn't paying much attention to it. Especially since you thought of improving your crime scene memory straight two minutes ago.

Mike turned it around, observing it from every possible angle like it was an artifact. Getting the impression, he was just being goofy you demanded it back with an explicit gesture. By the chance, Collins was taking a quick glance at it as well.

“Let me see, Miss Rockland,” he was the next one to snap it out of your hand. Eyes drawing across the small piece of plastic, he read out loud: “I'll. Enjoy. Pansy Pennyroyal.”

What did he say? I'll? Like I will. You took it as the roman number '3'.

“Is that an advertisement? Or a message? Who's Pansy Pennyroyal?” Mike leaned over, covering your sight to the paper. “Sounds kinda like that old man insult for gays.”

“You know what,” Collins raised his index, “I think it could be like a secret language. I leave post-it's all over my house with little hints for myself when I once again forget my passwords. I don't clearly write down the password, I just give some reminders. Like if the passwords something like Chickenboat44 I draw a big hen on a boat with an 8 and a scissor,” he elaborated, miming a scissor with his hands.

You couldn't even say it was weird, because you'd probably do something similar, but it was unexpected that it came from Officer Collins. You'd guess Mike doing something likely, but Collins?

“Why the scissor?” Mike wondered.

“To cut the 8 in two halves, so I have the 4 twice. It's simple math.”

“I don't think math works like this.” Connor, marginalized standing in the corner, was lastly joining the brainstorming. “I suppose the flowers could be, technically speaking, translated by their meaning.”

You gave him a wary look. “How do you know the meaning of a Pennyroyal?”

“Oh Ama-,” he cut himself off, “Amelia, maybe I just know such a thing.”

Did he just get your name wrong? That's mean.

“Listen, folks, I would say, that the Pansy is the plant of the gay homosexual love and that Pennyroyal-thing is one of those new eco-tea sorts you get in every of the fancy green coffee shops. It's clearly an ad. A hella minimalist ad.”

Swooping up your card, you gave a ridicule pant. “A minimalist advertisement for a gay green tea bar?”

Collins cackled, “That sounds like something rather realistic.”

Within a minute you were down at the underground parking garage. All of you stepping out the elevator, you came to a small hall where the stairs and the lift met. Behind a heavy-looking door was the parking lot.

All of a sudden, there was a bluster.

“Urgh!,” growled Mike. Everyone turning around, you saw that he just nearly slipped on a skateboard lying around. He picked it up. “For what god damn reason is here a damn skateboard lying around?”

Collins pricked up his ears. “A skateboard?” He took it and marveled at it. “Isn't that cool. I had one when I was a young lad. It didn't know they still sell those.”

“Oh yeah, it's really cool! It's so cool that it nearly broke my ass!” He ripped it out of Collins' hands. “It's confiscated. It's possible evidence!” Swearing under his breath, he stomped through the door, the rest of you following hard on.

Lighted by cold, blueish lamps stretching over the ceiling, the parking area was painted in a hard gray. The cars lined up in at the walls right and left and in the middle. In the end, they were forming a circle-like track over the place.

Spacing out, each of you examined a different spot and you all were on the look-out for something suspicious or helpful.

You were staying at the place you came from, inspecting the front area.

“Why are there never cameras when I'm on a case?” Collins complained by calling over the whole place.

“I can relate. If I'm on a case with Hank we hardly have the pleasure of a present security camera. Yesterday Amelia and I had the luck to have one in attendance,” Connor told his colleagues.

“Really!?” Mike bursts out, “It's been ages since I saw one near a crime scene, how was it?”

What were they talking about?

“Quite helpful, actually.”

"Woow~" The both man breathed their admiration like they've been told the best story ever.

Was it just empty small talk or did you miss something? How could it be that there was so little video evidence if Detroit was cluttered with security cameras? Maybe it was simply Murphy's law and there's none if needed...

Distracted by their crazy talk, you couldn't help but look at those dorks scurrying around, having a lovely chat.

Wandering around, you look out for anything that could come in handy. Between hundreds of tips from cigarettes and one or two crown caps, you see nothing remarkable.

It wasn't until later when the chattering stopped and you passed by a red stain on the asphalt. Approximately it was mere 50meters away from the elevator. Giving further notice to the stain, you see it was a little drop of blood.

Probably it was dripping from the knife or the culprit's body when he ran into Dan this morning. If it would be dripping on its own, just by itself, there would be several drops found all over the building. It wasn't even such a big drop. Just a tiny splash. You searched for another drop, followed the track, but there was nothing.

“I have a drop of blood. But that's not helping that much, just says he was here, right?” you yelled into the room.

“I find nothing worth noticing,” Collins stated.

“Yeah me neither,” Mike replied in an instant.

A bit discouraged by the poor results of this short trip downstairs, you surveyed your surrounding once more. There were no new clues to find, but you saw your partner kneeling on the floor.

Waddling over, you recognize a small box in his hand. You tilted your head. “Found something?”

Connor rose from the floor, holding the small box. “Those are matches,” he ascertained, turning it between his fingers.

It was in perfect condition. No one stepped on it, no wet stains, no car was driving across it. It couldn't be laying around here for long.

While Connor turned it around, you could clearly see the label. Placing your hand on his, he stopped fidgeting around. With a perplex look on his face, he watched you removing the matchbox from between his hands.

He could be cute at times, but you were still a bit grumpy that he messed up your name. The box in your possession, you read the cover of the only evidence you found.

 

**Alesto Laundry-Service**

//Clean, Fresh, Cheap//

Phone:(313) 975-4665

Email:service@Alesto.com

www.Alesto.com

 

 

“A Laundry-Service?”

“I mean, it's not that we've got any other helpful hints.”

 

\-----20 minutes later-----

 

“Hello, I'm Detective Rockland and I'm working for the DPD. We found this-,” you held up the matchbox, ”at a crime scene and wanted to take a look around if that would be possible.”

Visibly nervous, the receptionist placed her phone to her ear and called, you'd guess, her boss.

While she explained her superior that the cops are here to chat, you leaned against the counter, enjoying the interior. The scanty design reminded you of an old school building.

Linoleum-covered floor, dirty-white walls, and unnatural light. Enchanting.

Connor to your side, you exchanged a short glance, but nothing more. Both of you had decided it would be the best if you will be the one to introduce our arrival since 'Hello, I'm Detective Rockland' sounds just more intimidating than 'Hi, I'm Connor.'

Full stop.

Whereas his title's still in coming, he had the idea to search for fingerprints and in fact, you found some. His name was Albin Badura. He was recently coming here to work as a supplier. No criminal record so far, but he came to the US a year ago, so there's still time for that. Either way, he was no inhabitant of the apartment building, but he was there.

“Um, Miss- Miss Detective,” the receptionist's voice echoed, “Just around the corner is Mr. Gahli's office. Just go ahead. He will see you every minute.”

“Thank you, Miss Sarah.” Connor bowed.

It was amusing to see how surprised she was by him calling her by her name. It was no magic trick, he was obviously cheating by glancing on her files. At least that was what you did. Anyway, Connor was content that he affected her.

Down the corridor, you took a turn to the left. From the corner of your eye, you noticed a map for escape and emergency routes. Straight ahead you'd have run into a busy bunch of workers pushing around cars filled with … laundry stuff? You weren't sure. From that distance, with so little light, you saw only shadows.

Entering the office you were ready to snoop around a bit, but before you could even walk around the table, the door swung open, and a, how else could it be: sanitary clean dressed man, walked in.

Shaking both of your hands, he introduced himself as Mr.Gahli. You already knew that.

“Then, how can I help you?” He folded his hands, ready to listen to your concerns and troubles.

“We found one of your matchboxes at a crime scene-”

“Uh huh, Uh huh, so you'd like to start a small investigation? I can do that but I have to-” The manager was nearly as jumpy as the receptionist.

“This won't be necessary. We found fingerprints on the matchbox's case and would like to have a talk to one of your employees. Albin Badura.” Connor was really good at playing the serious cop.

It took the manager a moment to process, but then he hurried to his desk, tapping on his keyboard.

“Uh huh, Uh huh, yeah, I can check if he's working right now. Maybe you're lucky...” His eyes drew over the screen. “Uh huh Uh huh, he just started his shift. I dare say that you'd like to ask him a couple of question?”

You both nodded.

“Uh huh...,” he picked up the receiver, “...It's dialing...Ah hello, Mr. Badura. Yeah, Badura could you come over to my office a second? Yeah? Splendid. See you soon.” And he hangs up. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands and walked up and down in his office. Connor and you were standing still next to the door. It was a bit awkward.

It wasn't long before the door opened and a chunky man stood in the office. With pleading hands, the manager confronted the man.

“Badura, these nice young people are working for the DPD and like to ask you some questions, if you could be so kind and offer them some of your time,” Gahli explained.

Badura had trouble understanding him: his eyes were constantly fixated on Gahli. After a moment of thinking, he agreed. With a big step, you jumped into his field of view and reached out your hand to greet him.

His face went pale, like seeing a ghost and with wide eyes, he slowly took a step back. No one ever looked at you with such horror.

“Ty sukinsynu...,” he muttered to himself. He moved backward until he bumped against the door, took a hold of the doorknob and stormed out.

Without a second delay, Connor ran after him, shoving you to the side.

“I'll get him!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia is not sure if she wants to believe her own mind or just neglect the idea of Connor being android, to keep up her trust. Connor is now the one feeling 'inhibited' by his own personal decision of not telling her. For now. Mike was nearly killed by a very deceitful skateboard. And Collins has developed an artful way to remind you of your passwords. 
> 
> Before I let you go, I'd like to use the chance to ask you another question. And it would be really interesting for me to know, so if you have a second, just give a brief answer.
> 
> When you are reading ANY kind of CharacterxReader Fanfiction HOW do you imagine your Reader-Self? Are you 'role-playing' a second character, or do you just have no picture in your head, is it you? Your OC? 
> 
> For my part: I normally read as 'myself', but when it gets smutty or embarrassing I kinda jump into an OC or a made up character by default. Maybe so i don't have to feel dirty after it... or something.


	17. It's not sweat, it's steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird, that I want to keep on writing?

February 3rd, 2039  
2:08pm

Connor rips open the door, getting sight of Badura, going for the left. He goes after him, racing down the corridor, pushing aside anyone who's in his way. With a dip at Connor, Badura bolted through a wide door on the right. Connor was faster and more agile, he was quickly catching up. Almost there, just one jump ahead. A hand tugged his shoulder.

"Hey! You're not allowed here, sport!" Some men lined up before Connor, holding him back. Right in front of him, he could see Badura pacing away.

He pushed the of sanitizer reeking men aside. "Detroit Police. Let me through!" With much struggling, they, just barely, let go of him, and Connor had to gain on the runner. Crossing the huge hall, Badura was already way ahead. If it weren't for his co-workers, Connor would have had him.

He needed a shortcut.

In the center, there were constructed big machines to treat the laundry. As Badura ran to the left, Connor dashed straightforward, up the stairs, onto the machine. Now he had a clear view. Coming to a halt for a blink, he perceived the exit on the very end on the right. Badura was on the left. Jumping from machine to machine, up to him, should make up the delay.

Getting up momentum, he leaps to the next construct. Under Connor's feet, oversized washing machines were batched up in a row, like building blocks. Steam ascended from the pipes, as he paced over it, leaving small beads of water running down his face. It blurred his vision.

The next jump. His fingers nearly slipped on the even surface, but he heaved himself up. Badura hurried to the right. The row of machinery ended and with a bounce Connor dove into a broad laundry basket. Smelling the scented detergents, he dug his way out the basket. Maneuvering around the workers and the carts roaming around, he drew closer.

He could see him. Behind a moving walkway. He was drenched in sweat.

Throwing his hands onto the walkway, Connor hopped over it with a push. Just one step ahead. And he edged the last couple of people blocking his path to the fugitive. He could hear the man's breath beating out of his lungs, his feet stomping on the ground. He was getting puffed.

Connor had to brake hard.

Sliding the last inches, he came to an abrupt halt. A fork lifter shot ahead of him. A hair later and it would have run him over.

It was a long train of trailers and the carts would not allow Connor to leap over them. He had to stop here. Badura made it to the other side. Bobbing up, he looked back at Connor. His chest rose and fell rapidly, panting for air. With glossy eyes, he was shaking his head slowly. And he trudged to the exit. As he was almost gone, the train ended.

Behind the gate, there would be the loading station. If he manages to reach the streets, the chances to outrun him will be bad. Connor set off for the sprint.

With a loud rattling, a laundry cart rushed out behind the gate and rammed Badura that hard that he was torn to the ground. Connor just heard a groan. Knowing his persecuted on his knees, Connor slowed down. Jogging the last two steps, he peered behind the gate.

"At your service."

His lashes fluttered at you, loosely hanging at the other end of your converted ram. Feet bouncing on solid ground, you and Connor turned back to the escapee. Hand pressed to his head, he was getting up. Jolting, he was trying to run off.

Grabbing his collar, you hurled him against the cold wall. "Not so fast."

Badura's face was turning ashen. With tight shoulders and tears in his eyes, he tried to break away. "No, Nie rozumiesz! Please! Nie."

Connor held onto the man's right wrist. "What do you mean we don't understand?" He received an asking look from you. That man was babbling polish.

Needless to say, Connor understood his words.

Startled that he comprehends what he said, Badura bursts out in hysteria. "Musisz mnie puścić. Błagam cię! Proszę! Nawet nie powinienem tu być! Jeśli cokolwiek ci pow-" You recoiled.

With shaking knees, you trembled back. The hands, which were just holding tight to his jacket, were now slapping over your mouth.

Connor and you stared at the dead body, sliding down the wall slowly. Blood dripping from his forehead. Frozen eyes.

He grabbed you by the arm and hauled you to take shelter. Pressing you against the wall around the corner, he checked if he could see the attacker. There was a hotel right there. Distance approx 500m. Waiting for any other shots. Nothing.

Staying in cover, he titled his head down to look after you. With shaking breath, you held on to his shoulder. You lifted your chin to face him. There was blood splatter on your face. Thankfully, you weren't injured.

"Are you alright?"

You huffed. "Yeah..., I was just... surprised," your hand brushed over your cheek, "The blow.. from the bullet, I felt it on my skin..."

This has to mean that it was incredibly close to your face. A wrong move and it would have hit you. And even if you said you were fine, you were still clinging onto his sleeve. It will take you a moment to calm down, his own heart was still racing, too.

He heard rapid steps coming nearer. Through the resulted crowd of employees, Gahli came towards you. Noticing him, you straightened, stepping away from Connor.

Gahli threw his hands together over his head. "For God's sake! What happened??!" he screamed, looking down at the dead body, together with the blood splash on the wall.

Experiencing a meltdown, the manager was reassured by his workers, while you placed your phone on your ear. The corners of your eyes crinkled and you gave Connor a guilty half-smile, referring to the mess that happened. The person on the other side of the line picked up the phone.

"Heeeey, Chris. We've got some work for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badura had a solid reason to run, but he didn't go far.  
> Team Connor and Amelia got him,  
> and then someone shot him.  
> Now the poor Chris has to get a funeral car.
> 
> (short bad poem from me, thank you) 
> 
>  
> 
> How did you like it? My first chase/death to write. It's a bit short, but I want your HONEST opinion. Too brief, too much detail? Good to imagine the scene? Maybe even a bit suspense?
> 
> Next chapter either today (what's wrong with me I'm burning motivation) or tomorrow.


	18. Uh- there's something in your face...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot about the fact that I was planning to go on a trip last weekend. SO sorry for the delay :)  
> Here is chapter 18 on the February the 3rd 2019 taking place on February the 3rd 2039. 
> 
> Enjoy!

February 3rd, 2039

2:45 p.m. 

'Pling'

 

You take out your phone, opening your messenger app. It's Gavin. Opening the chat, a picture was downloading.

The picture showed a little girl, about 4, in her arms a poofy cat. Sitting in a chair, they both wore pink sunglasses and stuck out their tongues.

 

 

_My niece brought me a souvenir from Florida, it's too small for me but Captain Pickles is glad to be part of the gang now!_

_Next time I'll get my own and we'll start a band!_

 

 

You snorted. Finger tapping on the screen, the corner of your mouth twitched up.

 

Can I rent you for my birthday party?

 

  _I have to ask the manager..._

_..._

 

  _What does she say?_

  _...Yeah so she's okay with that but you have to pay in pie._

_Pickles hasn't decided yet._

 

_Maybe Pickles likes to have some tuna?_

 

  _XD okay he just got big eyes. It's a deal._

_What are you doing right now?_

 

 You grabbed the shock blanket on your shoulders and posed for a nice shoot of your blood-splattered face.

Then you hit send.

 

 C _hased down a suspect and he got shot by some sniper >.<, none of our people, don't worry._

_Guess who's got dead man sticking in his hair???_

_Poor guy, though._

 

_For Ph*cks sake! I thought you did something stupid again! You okay???_

 

_I'm fine. Sitting here at the backside of an ambulance. It's a bit chilly._

_But I got the blanket. (VwV)_

 

...

 

 What?>o<

_*insert sigh here*_

_You're crazy. (._.)_

_Anyway, want to meet at the gym later? Bet you need some exercise to catch up._

 

_Ekasiuuuse me?_

_...Yeah, you're right._

_Physiotherapy is nothing like training._

 

_Cool. B) Just tell me when you're done. We can walk._

 

  _Neat. I'll let you know._

 

 

 Putting down your phone, you watched the crime scene cleaner arriving. With a bucket and some tools nearby he was asking for permission to get started. Chris and his partner agreed and he began to scrub the wall. The scenery was calming down. The company will be closed for now and you knew that Gahli was brought in some minutes ago. The paramedics gave shock-support to the workers and especially Gahli who was completely done for today.

Probably his first corpse.

Even if you firmly assured that you were okay, Connor insisted on letting the medics check on you. It was nothing. Just stress.

It was only some dead body and you felt stupid for going crazy like this. That's your job. That's what you do. Nothing grave. But you weren't the same like before. It changed you a lot. You changed a lot.

By the sight of that man and the death creeping up his eyes, your heartbeat stopped only to shoot the cold blood through your veins even faster. It was paralyzing.

Everything stopped moving. Just the blood dripping down to his chin.

You were a coward. He had to drag you away. If it weren't for him, the man with the swab would have to wipe your blood off the wall, too. You were dependent on his help. That wasn't respectable. This was weak. Sadly, you thought the dog days were over.

But it was oddly enjoyable. It was weird but it calmed your heart when you held onto him.

You were thankful that he was there to have your back in a moment of weakness. It was Connor. You couldn't imagine him blaming you. He just wouldn't. Still, you'd like it better if you didn't need his help.

"You know, I was happy to get home early today."

Chris tapped his pen on the notepad, eyebrows raised.

Puckering up, you peer away.

"Everything's going nut's where ever one of you goes. But who am I telling that." He looks around, letting out a deep sigh. "We're done here. You should go home for today. Connor wanted to inspect the hotel over there." He pointed at a tall building.

"I wouldn't expect to get anything useful from it," your voice was faint. "If it's a hotel the person will be gone the second after the guy took the bullet. He doesn't even have to rent a room. Sneaking it would be enough. You can go for cameras but I heard it's unlikely to run into one."

Glaring at the red splash on your shoelace, you felt his gaze on you. "Hey Dear, you don't sound so good..."

Lifting your head, your eyes felt dry and your arms were heavy. What he said, that with the chaos you leave behind. It hit you. It wasn't mean, you weren't mad.

He was right.

"I think I need the rest you were talking about."

Coming from the inside of the hall, Connor joined you. Reading the mood his eyes jumped between you and Chris. Chris patted your blanketed shoulder and went back to his colleges. Glancing after him, Connor turned back to you.

"You feel better?" he asked genuinely, but his expression quickly went poker-faced. Hesitantly, he gestured to his own face. "Um, you-you still have some..."

Your eyes lit up and puzzled, you touched your cheek. The sticky almost dried substance on your fingertips told you about the blood on your face. Looking at the dark, smelling red, nausea hit your stomach. "Oh- I- that."

Chuckling over your reaction he sat down next to you. "Wait. Let me help."

Rummaging the back of the ambulance, he grabbed a cloth and cupped your face with one hand. The other hand wiped the dirt from your face. You studied the equipment inside the car and ignored the comfortable warmth of his skin on your cheek.

"How come I always look bloody when we hang around?" you joked.

He gave you a gloomy smile. "I'm sorry for that," he said.

You simpered. "I'm just joking Connor. Don't take it too seriously."

"Still..," his voice drifted off, "one inch closer and it could have hit you, too." His eyes narrowed.

As he rubbed the cloth near your eye, you screw it up, unwillingly shoving your face into the palm of his hand.

"I think that only means, that it wasn't me they were aiming for."

He stopped and looked at you for a moment. Then he stroked the cloth over your forehead. "I wonder what he wanted to tell us..."

"What language was that?"

"Polish."

He spoke polish?

You cocked your head, dodging his next stroke. "And what did he say?"

Connor lowered the cloth. "He said that we don't understand and that we should let him go. I believe that he wanted to tell us something before the bullet pierced the frontal lobes of his brain."

So perhaps someone was listening? It could be a coincidence, but it was already suspicious that they knew where to place their sniper. Or the fact that they even need one. You got an uneasy feeling that the perfect-preserved clue was placed. This way they would be able to divine this scenario.

But who would hire a driver only for the case of laying a trail to shoot him in the face right in front of the investigators? That's sick.

"I think that's it," Connor said. A last checking look over your face, then he put down the cloth. "All clean again." As he removed his hand from your cheek, the spot of your skin felt cold. You were missing the warmth.

"Thank you," you said and unintentionally touched your face. He smiled.

"You should rest for today. You're a bit pale, and I don't want you to overdo it. We will check on the hotel over there, though I wouldn't expect much, and then we're done for today."

He fiddles with the cloth in his hand. There was something on his mind but as soon as he realized you noticing, the corner of his lips curled.

"I'll ask Donna if she takes you home," he said, about to walk over to a police officer.

"Oh no. That's not necessary," you show him to sit down again, "I'll walk. And anyway I meet up with Gavin later, there's no need to give me a ride home." A bit unsure what to say, Connor's eyes fixated on you.

"Okay."

It was ... Uncomfortable ...to take a car to get from A to B. Since the accident you didn't feel safe anymore.

Before all that, you liked driving and you enjoyed getting a lift from a friend after a party or a long day. Listening to music and singing loudly. The smell of gasoline. The smell of the seats when the sun burned. The rattling on the cobbled road or even cleaning your car from freshly fallen snow in the early morning. It was a feeling you loved.

Now it was just a thing. Mere transportation.

You never drove after that on your own. You tend to step into a car as a co-driver if necessary. But only if it was really the better option. Otherwise, you took the train, or if you had to: the bus. But busses weren't much different than cars.

He probably had his own thoughts on the matter, since it got pretty quiet between the two of you. It wasn't specifically awkward, you appreciated the silence. The topic was that flogged to death, that it was always harping on the same theme.

It wasn't necessary to speak about it again, you were sure that he could put two and two together. But perhaps you should talk about something that's not in you.

"Um, for that before," you glanced over, and those words were hardly loosening from your tongue, "for this pullin' me into cover-thing, you did... You know what I mean.. So just thank you."

It took him a moment. Big eyes staring at you. It was merely 5 seconds, but it felt like 30. Oh, you felt so stupid. That wasn't something you were particularly good at - definitely not.

Gratitude was something great and beautiful. But gratitude was also proof that you needed help and couldn't do it on your own.

Sometimes that was okay. Like carrying a heavy box, or a good advice. But this was your life.

"It's okay," Connor said, "every time."

"You know, it's not my... Me. Being startled like this by a little shock. I wouldn't lose my cool over that. But I have to... Get used to it again. All that Detective Life. The running and the chasing. All the death and violence. It's not like I can't handle it. I'm not new to it after all. It's only..."

You noticed yourself babbling without breathing again. Inhaling deeply, you covered your mouth. Oxygen back in your head, you turn to him.

"I'm glad that you didn't shot me."

Oh god, you're a failure.

You pressed your eyes together, pained by your own words. "I mean- not this. You didn't shot me. You saved me from- so I mean I'-"

"I'm glad I didn't shot you, too." He tilted his head and smirked.

You couldn't help it. You tried to suppress the twitching in your lips but you gave in.

A warm chuckle huffed over your tongue. "Good to hear that."

Eyes back at him, he looked down to the cloth in his hand. "Please don't think bad of yourself. I wouldn't want you to think of you as weak. If you need help I'll gladly help you." With a content smile, he turned around the fabric in his hands.

It was soothing. It will not change the way you perceive your actions, but it helped you to relax. Maybe you should call that up in your mind every now and then.

He nudged you slightly and stood up.

"I will go now. Maybe we're lucky and there will be some hints. You never know."

"Yeah, I'll go as well." You jumped at your feet. Putting back the blanket. "Good luck for you."

With a playful smile, he waves at you and heads back to Chris. With curled lips, you walk off the loading area.

The snow was muddy and the passing cars threw the sludge onto the sidewalk. The people around you were all wrapped up in thick coats and scarf, ranging around. Pulling your jacket closer, you brushed your hand over your cheek.

You could get used to receiving this kind of help.

 

 

_Okey-dokey, I'm free now._

_Where to meet?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to make use of the fact that we have the date currently running parallel, so I'll really really REALLY try to update for the next 3 days. But of course I cannot promise. I have to work on Thursday and some things to take care of. I'll start the next chapter immediately and if ALL STARS LINE UP IN ORDER I maybe update tomorrow.


	19. Tales of grunting boars and Asian food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: contains abusive content.
> 
> Don't worry it's nothing colorfully illustrated, but if you're really sensitive for that you should consider skipping this chapter.
> 
> For everyone else: Have fun!

February 3rd, 2039  
10:38 pm  
Owen Street

It's getting cooler outside and the snow's been falling over the last few hours. The city's covered in a white blanket and the crowded streets became empty. Only the central area still had the usual hurly-burly. With happiness and laughter, you stepped out of an old, sordid, Asian restaurant.

"And I haven't eaten a shrimp since," Gavin quipped.

Holding your hand before your mouth, you snorted. You had heard lots of Gavin's embarrassing stories, but that one was really painful.

"Ouch!" He stopped, rubbing his shoulder. "It still hurts."

Chuckling, you wrapped your scarf around your neck. "I told you to stretch properly." Taking a sip from your can of juice, you receive a piercing look.

"Yeah yeah, shut up. We're not all regulars at back therapy training!" He rolled his shoulders to ease his muscles. "I just hope it's not getting in my way tonight."

"Tonight? Busy schedule?"

"Yeah...," he mumbled under his breath, occupied with his tense neck, "Zoey's coming back within the next two hours. I'll pick her up from the airport- Oh!" His eyes got big -something popped in his mind.

Pushing his can of soda into your hands, he fiddled with his belt. He took off his holster.

"Can you take this?"

Before you knew it, he took back his soda and you had the gun with its belt in your hand. Like a dead rat, you held it up, feeling plenty of stares on you. The people on the full street turned and whispered around you.

You screwed up your face. "What?"

Gavin scratched the back of his neck. "She hates the fact that American police forces are entitled to shoot people and that they- I told her I don't carry a gun."

"But you do?"

"Yeah, but what kind of detective has no gun??" He throws his hands in the air.

You pointed your index at yourself. "Me. I don't have a gun."

"Yeah well, now you do."

With a blank, unimpressed stare, you asked, "And what should I do with that?"

Gavin took a second to think, then shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno. Can you bring it to the precinct? Put it in my locker? There will be a place to put it."

You look into the direction of your way home. It was quite a walk. At least an hour to the precinct, and you'd have to walk another 45 minutes back to your apartment. But the weather was okay. It was cold but not as stormy as when you walked to the gym. It wouldn't harm to take a nice walk.

Playfully, you roll your eyes, sighing deeply. "Oookay. But you owe me."

He lifts up the remaining Asia noodles wrapped up in tin foil and gives you a bargaining look.

"I don't want your stinky leftovers," you laugh. "Next time we go to the lovely little place we were with Chris last year."

"Oh that. Yeah, that was good. But I don't pay for your drinks. Just the main course."

"And I want a fortune cookie," you bargained with a cheeky smirk.

Gavin snorted. "Of course you do." He zipped his jacket up to his chin. "Okay thank you, Ams. Take care!"

Waving goodbye, he disappeared in the crowd rushing down the overrun sidewalk. You took the last sip from your juice, then dumped the can in the trash.

Loping down the street, you buckled the holster around your waist. It was a weird feeling to walk around with a gun on your side. You were allowed to carry one and were trained with it but you decided to leave it at the precinct long ago.

You checked the safety catch.

Now that you thought about it... Connor never had a gun either. But you wouldn't think that he could actually point a gun at someone and really mean it. Whenever you tried to imagine it, you had that soft kitten smile on your mind.

You got quite attached to that smile.

It was actually a bit scary to see him so down today. There was something hurtful about it, seeing him like that. You began to ponder.

The attack he had at the crime scene just didn't leave you alone. Was Connor directly involved in this scenario? Was he in danger? Could it be?

So just ... Just giving it a thought. Just a little theory. Only thinking about it.

That ...Connor ...was an android.

Ok. You had that idea before but it just felt weird.

You tried to completely ignore the fact that it would be so damn unpolite to play this dirty on you.

Yet, there was more than one thing that smelled fishy about him. He left out more than one detail about his life. He was constantly lying about his personal history.

And you wouldn't be a detective if you couldn't see if someone's avoiding the truth.

Then there was the fact that he was amazingly fit. He was fast and strong and could jump up a wall like it's the simplest thing on this planet.

Additionally, he did things that were simply not normal for a regular human being.

Calculating the straight translation of units of length. The corpse he just ransacked like a backpack. The way he moved sometimes and how his eyes scanned his complete area whenever he came into new territory. And he spoke polish.

You tilted your head back, gazing at the deep, dark sky. Some icy flakes touched your skin.

Maybe you were just exaggerating things.

The lying could be a way to veil details about his past, which he doesn't want to share. Completely relatable, you'd do the same.

His bold investigating and the compulsive analyzing of his surroundings maybe just showed that he was an unusual detective.

The polish was just a thing he learned from his relatives or he's good with languages.

And his physical fitness could be just physical fitness.

Your mind played tricks on you.

Maybe you were looking for problems, where no problems were. Bit of a reflex. You were confusing your job with your personal life again. Wouldn't be the first time.

Connor wasn't your case. He was your partner. You didn't have to analyze him head to toe. You should calm down a bit.

Telling yourself to stop killing your mind with stupid theories, you took a turn. Coming from the long Avenue, you headed through a more narrow street.

Throwing your head back, you saw a cloudy dark sky, warmed by the orange street light. The wind was blowing through you and you came into a less crowded place. It was a shortcut through a little park next to an apartment area. In fact, it was empty. Completely deserted.

Considering the circumstance that seconds ago the avenue behind you was filled with people, it was a bit scary.

It was a little shortcut to avoid the traffic lights and save some time. Besides, it was less overrun, so you gladly accepted the goosebumps it gave you, walking around here.

From the next crossroad, you hear a wrathful voice hissing through someone's teeth.

"Don'tcha even dare to cry..!"

You stopped and listend to what was going on. The snow gave away the noise of footsteps and there was dragging and tearing. You heard a whimper. There was someone with him.

The man roared, "I did everything for ya and this is how ya thank me?! You should be begging on ya knees! Begging, I say!"

You drew closer carefully, hoping to get a better view of the situation. Peeking around the corner, you saw a bulky man tugging the arm of a young girl. She was never older than 20.

"See what ya made me do?!" He nearly ripped off her arm by tearing her closer.

It was dark and you saw barely more than silhouettes, but she was clearly not well. She fought to get herself free, pulling, scratching, struggling. But she was too weak and he was too strong and tears welled up in her eyes.

Your nails bit into your palms.

"We will go home now! I don't care what they say! I paid for you and so I own you!"

"You're hurting me." The struggle and protest became a sobbing. In an instant, you stepped up to them and raised your voice.

"Step away from her!"

You stopped.

Where did that come from? That wasn't your voice, saying that.

From the other side of the road, a woman marched over, stern eyes fixated on the man. With arms stemmed on her hips, she built up in front of him, glaring. The cold fierce in her eyes made your heart tighten.

With surprise, he turned, pushing the girl besides. His hand was still violently grabbing her wrist. Eyeing his disturber, he copied the woman's stance. He planted himself before her, threatening her with a sinister look.

She was almost two heads smaller than him and had a visibly slighter figure. It was an unfair situation, but as you saw before, 'unfair' was exactly his jam. Puffing up with pride he gazed down at her.

But the woman showed no worry.

“What did ya say?” the man growled.

“Did I stutter?” the woman asked. Her voice was getting deeper.

You heard him grunting like a boar, outraged with the woman's response. “Bitch that's none of ya fucking business! So just fuck off, you scum! Or ya want this to end badly?!” He jerked his head forth, almost spitting at her.

“Are you deaf?!” she leaned forth, nearly banging their heads together. “I said leave her alone!” Willpower was written in her face.

You were impressed.

But the big blockhead didn't like that at all. With snorts and grunts, he kept his anger boiling like a cauldron and even though all these muscles and the evil looks were frightening, this woman has floored him. And just like all the hotheads who felt attacked, he ripped his arm in the air and took a strong swing.

“Stop!”

You held out your arm in alert. And he stopped.

“Don't you even dare to do that!”

The big boulder gave you a resentful look over his shoulder. “So what?” he hissed. “Wanna pull my hair? Scratch me with ya fake nails? Gossip me to death?” He now turned to you, tugging the girl with him, like a dog on a leash.

“Oh why so grumpy, pal? Is that the way to get new friends?” You laid your head in your neck, to look him in the eyes. The spirit of that woman was sparking over to you. That was just some dull iron pumper, nothing serious. A bitchy boy.

The sudden lack of awe was unnerving him and his stone cold face, blanked for a second in surprise.

“Yeah, big boy,” the woman laughed dryly from behind his back, “Never forget that a nice chat with a lady can always-”

Snappy, she twisted his arms and kicked his legs away. And with a loud bang, the big boy laid on the ground.

“-sweep you off your feet.”

With a more than stunned expression, you stood there, looking at the bulky man, crawling in the snow. You were dumbfounded.

With a pained moan, the man was about to crawl up again but was instantly held down by a firm step on his chest.

No matter how hard he tried or how strongly he pushed her feet, it wasn't moving a centimeter. That woman was strong.

Ignoring the bleat coming from that arrogant prick, you noticed the girl standing behind the woman's back. She was holding on to her wrist, trembling in every limb. In the street lights, you realized, that her whole face was covered in bruises and that her clothes were very thin. It was only a hoodie she wore over a tanktop.

The blue and red stains on her face indicated that she must have suffered there over a longer period of time, wherever she'd run from.

Glancing down at the maggot of a man, lying there like a tortoise on it's back, you wished to tie people like that with a rope on a bridge and let them hang there for 7days and 7nights.

It wasn't that hard to guess what happened.

“Hey,” She flinched as you addressed her, “are you okay?”

She nodded quickly, still grabbing her own wrist.

You took off your jacket. Already feeling the cold wind on your arms, you wrapped her in your coat. She was taken aback, but at least she was warmer. Hesitantly, she held onto it. She was looking away.

Watching her, pulling the coat closer around her, you dropped your head. As you listened to their fight before, he said he owned her because he paid for her...

But androids get no bruises.

You stepped back, slightly lifting your hands. You didn't want to scare her any further than she already was. “I'm Amelia. How is your name?”

Her face burrowed into her collar.“...Julia.”

You put on a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, Julia. Everything's gonna be fine. He won't hurt you anymore.” Her eyes darted to the ground.

“What did he wanted from you, anyway? Who is this guy?” The woman asked, pressing the man's face deeper into the snow.

“Screw ya, you filthy whore! She won't tell ya anything!” He gazed at the girl. “Because she knows what happens if she does. Amirite, ya bitch?”

Like you saw the situation, it was clear what happened. Julia was just a young girl and that creep was going on about how he paid for her. It was no puzzle to get that. The girl wore smudgy makeup and her hair was tousled. The clothes she wore were not her own and the bruises spoke for themselves. If it was a brothel or a private person wasn't distinct, but someone got some cash for letting him take her. God knows how long she's been there.

You kicked some snow into his face.

“Hush!” You turned back to her, softening your voice. “Don't be scared. We will bring you away from here and everything's gonna be sorted.” She still held her wrist.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked, nodding at her hand. She shook her head.

Hopefully, she was okay.

“Don't listen to him, Julia,” the woman said, “there's nothing he could do. Right, big boy? You won't touch her.” She twisted his arm behind his back, making him howl.

“Ahrg! Screw you!” She stemmed against his shoulder, pulling back his arm. “Burn in hell!”

She leaned closer and whispered, “I could snap every single joint in your arm. And I would enjoy it. We both know that, don't we? So apologize or the next thing that happens is gonna be a delightful surprise.”

“Fuck you, you slut!”

“One.” The woman grabbed his arm with both hands. “Two.” She waited for a response, but he was only wriggling like a worm, and grunting like a pig. “Three!”

“That's enough.”

You put your hand on her shoulder. With a surprised expression, she faced you, loosening her grip. She seemed to have no wish to protest, and dropped his arm, like a toy she lost interest in. The man swore and ranted under her feet.

“That was fun,” you said, grabbing your phone. “But I won't allow any more riots on the streets. The people already had enough to be afraid of these days.” Exchanging a serious look, you called the precinct.

Normally, you'd call Chris, but he was at home already. It would go faster like that, but this had to work out as well.

“911, what's your emergency?”

“This is Detective Rockland from DPD, I have run into a mugging. A man dragged a young girl to come with him. Me and a- “

The woman shook her head to shut you up. She didn't want to be mentioned.

“-I and the girl are at the E Warren and Brush. The attacker is still with us and in hand. Can you send someone to pick them up?”

”Amelia?” the voice on the line asked, “Hey! It's me! Jenny!”

“Oh hey! I thought you were at home already. Why are you still working?”

“Oh, only a bit busy. I'll send you James and Lars, they are around right now. Somebody got hurt?”

She went through the classic protocol. Except for Julia's condition, you had nothing grave. No weapons, except Gavin's gun and no further damage except big boy's broken pride. And then she ended the call.

“Okay, help's on their way," you announced, putting away your phone. You wrapped your arms around your freezing shoulders. “Will only take a minute.” You wore a pullover, but only a thin one. You felt every breeze.

“So a detective, huh?”

You turned your face away, letting out an amused huff. “Hah, Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself.” You approach her with an outstretched hand. “I'm Amelia. Just Amelia.”

The woman looks at your hand eyeing you suspiciously. “Hi.” She firmly shook your hand. “Thanks for the help, Amelia.”

You scoffed. “It's not like I did anything.” It was true. You only called the police. That's it. She did the hard part. “How did you managed that just now?” You gestured at the man on the floor.

You knew how hard it was to throw someone in your size to the ground. Let alone a man who's visibly taller than you. But she tossed him around like a doll.

She gave you a half-shrug. “We're not all just gardening machines and Nannybots.” Running her fingers through her red hair, she overviewed the crossroad. “And by the way, thanks for not snitching me to the police.”

“Is there a problem you have with the DPD?” your voice became stern. You agreed on not mentioning her, but if she was a criminal, the whole thing would be different.

With a gesture, she asked you to come and change places. Which means that you'd hold down the guy. Stepping down from his back, she puts his hands together, so you could grab them.

“No that's not the reason,” she said, “I simply should avoid being in the spotlight. I'm into politics and it could get bumpy with the press.”

Firmly holding his hands together, you propped your knee onto his bladebone. It will hold like this, he wasn't struggling as much as he did before, but you still had to be careful. When worse comes to worst, you still had the gun.

The gun with the triple-checked safety catch.

“That should be fine.” She put her hands on her hips with a checking look on you.

“So I guess you won't stay here until the police arrives?” you asked, kneeling on the man's back.

The woman observed her surroundings. “Well, I'm actually kinda lost. I was with my friends before, but when I heard the riot I ran up to this place. But I think they have trouble finding me again.”

You laugh dryly, putting your weight on the big guy under you. “I hope you find them soon.”

After a moment of silence your eyes witnessed around, you see two shadows walking by the street. They stopped and eventually one of them starts waving and jumping.

“North! North! We're here!” a male voice echoed over the empty crossroad.

The woman raised one arm and a small smile appeared on her usually serious face. “I guess I found them."

Turning to you and Julia, she waved good-bye before running over the road, up to her friends. “I'm coming!”

On the other side of the street, you saw how the two men seemingly scolded her. It was cute to watch, apparently, they've been seriously worried. And with linked arms, they walked back the street they came from.

Not long after they disappeared, the blue light of the police car hurried over the streets, and sirens echoed. You leaned down to the man.

“Excited already?” you mocked him a bit.

“You're heavy! Go lose some weight, you fat pig!” it barked from below. In response, you shoveled some snow into his face.

“Why do you have to be so rude?” you said in an overly offended tone. “I thought we were getting best friends here!” You heard a coy chuckle coming from the girl.

As you raised your head. She hid her face under her jacket, but she did laugh. She had scars and bruises and cuts and she was freezing. But with smudgy black around her eyes, she laughed.

And it was the sweetest sound you heard that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun DUn DUUUN
> 
> It's North. Who knew it? Who had an idea? 
> 
> How did you imagined "the woman" before I revealed her to be North? That would be interesting for me since I was writing it with the knowledge that it was supposed to be North.
> 
> And like always I'd love to hear your opinion on that chapter! :D 
> 
> Little refresh note:  
> Connor mentioned Markus being in Europe to discuss the android rights before. So the guys North called her friends were Simon and Josh.


	20. Normal Dog-Smell

February 4th, 2039  
12:13 am

“I'll take a-”

“The usual?” the attendant interrupted you with a little smirk on her lips.

Your eyes shot back down to the attendant's. You weren't here that often, but you always ordered the same. Cute that she remembered.

You nodded. “Exactly.”

A content expression appeared on her face and she pushed herself away from the counter to prepare your lunch snack.

Waiting, you inspected her face more closely. If she knew what you ordered, she must have met you more than once, but you couldn't really remember her face. She had a nice jawline, though. And her cheeks looked pretty.

“Okay, here you go!” She turned back around and put a brown paper bag in front of you and tapped on the register. “That's 4,25, please.”

“Alright.” you held your card on the scanner, receiving a bright confirmation sound. Taking your bag, you waved goodbye.

“Ciao, Ciao!” she waved and winked at you as you left the shop.

Outside the shop, the warm coffee aroma was knocked out by the cold icy smell of the wind with the slaying mix of the city. Gasoline, cigarettes, deodorant, trash, hot dogs, sweets, leather.

Normal dogs.

It was like a punch in the face. It stabbed into your lungs like poison and it burned your nose like fire. You felt nauseous. Everything was spinning. Oh and the noise! Like the world was screaming into your ears.

You had to stop. Closing your eyes you somewhat scaled down everything. Inhaling deeply, you reassured yourself.

You felt nothing but the air flowing through your lungs.

There was nothing.

Only you.

If you don't want to feel it, you didn't have to. It was your choice and you were the one in control. That's how it works. You decided. You decide. No one else. When you open your eyes it will be normal. Just like always. Like it should be.

Catching the cold air, your eyes opened.

And everything was quiet.

It wasn't silent. There were people running around and the street was loud and cars rushed over the asphalt. But it was so much better than before. Adjusting your sight, you continued walking to the precinct.

You were late already.

Enjoying your snack, you let the world pass and thought of what happened last night.

After James&Lars came to the rescue, the victim, Julia, wasn't feeling well being escorted by two strange men. And after all, what happened, no one could blame her for being insecure. The two guys were really lovely and caring, but it was no situation to discuss. To make Julia feel safer, you joined the party.

Your original plan was to hand them Gavin's gun and say good night, but that way worked, too.

Big boy and James went for the back row and the rest of you sat in the front. For the first 10 minutes it were the most awkward silence you ever witnessed in a car.

Gladly, Lars is God of small talk. You adults chatting, about everything from  
breaking news to nail polish, deescalated the atmosphere pretty well.

Back at the precinct, a female officer mainly took care of Julia. She seemed to calm down a bit. She didn't forget what happened, but she slowly realized that she was safe now and that she didn't have to be afraid anymore.

It was just about giving a statement and filling out some files, and you were good to go. Obviously, you tried to leave out the woman's name you met that night.

Not that you could remember it properly, anyway. It was something like West or North or something.

Even though she was in good company, leaving Julia back at the office wasn't such an easy decision.

It was hard to tell if she wanted you to stay or if she was okay with the officer.

You were strangers after all. Your protective instinct fought against the belief that she was old enough to deal without you. And she wasn't all by herself. If it wasn't for the other colleagues, then you were sure that Jenny was capable of being sensitive and caring enough to comfort Julia.

In case there's any kind of problem, you gave her your phone number.

In the end, you were at home. It was late and you were exhausted, but you couldn't sleep. So you took the time that was given to you and used it to - how else could it be - work. You assembled a pile of empty papers around you and began to take notes of everything you could recall.

Times and location, people you saw around the crime scene, details you remembered.

You underlined the things that you still didn't understand. And things that just bothered you.

At 4 am you had a big folder.

At 6 am you reduced its content to the important things.

At 7 am you had a single piece of paper with a checklist.

Then you passed out at about 7 am.

Hoping to get some structure into this medley of an investigation, you took the file to the precinct. Since it will be your last day together, you could ask Connor for some help. A second external point of view could help to see the whole picture better.

Joyfully eating your lunch, you teetered down the last bit of the street until you entered a glass door on your right.

A modest gathering was present in the entrance hall of the department. Some started their shifts or handed in their testimonies, registered as a visitor, or simply asked for directions.

It was nice to see, that the citizen slowly got rid of their reservations towards the urban police. Over the course of the year, especially the last couple of months, the American police had to cope with harsh critics.

Albeit it was nothing grave, but more something like a bad image that spread over the media, you could recognize the impact by the people's attitude,

The valued assistants were turned into grumps who abused their power. The nation showed more and more discontent of the Officers and they lost their trust.

That the police, and in general the executive forces, fought the uprisings in such a violent and merciless manner, didn't only outraged those who decided to stand on the side on the androids long ago, but also the majority of the overall population.

Even if it's probably just a childish act to distract from their own actions. They were looking for someone to pass the buck to.

They became the scapegoat. Responsible for every single destroyed android and furthermore all the damage and losses that were created on the human side.

It equaled a kindergarten's situation. They all played along. They all did things no one would like to admit. And now where it was the time to stand up to their deeds, showing maturity, they backed off and pointed with their fingers at the police.

Humans are exhausting.

Particularly because there were cops who supported androids, some people just didn't deserve to be treated like this.

You were aware of the fact that Gavin was running riot more than just once and that the Lieutenant and even Chris weren't very tender back in the days.

But thinking about, how it must have been for Connor... All this anger straight up to his face, knowing that he was desperately trying to help those androids must have been hard.

You didn't know what about his stories was true, and what was altered to his liking, but concerning that, he was telling the truth.

He cared about them.

Of course, his lack of sincerity didn't leave you cold, but couldn't resent him that much. After all, you'd presumably do the same. You barely knew each other and who knows what he was exactly hiding from you. Maybe something he'd prefer to be kept a secret.

You had things yourself, you'd rather keep to yourself. And much less if it's some girl that's working with you for only about 2 days.

That was okay.

Honestly, you were kinda glad, that he had secrets.

Without exaggerating, it made you insecure how impeccable he was.

He was courteous and kind, sportive, cunning and humorous. And to that, he was very handsome. But in his own way, he was uneasy and clumsy, though it only made him even more sympathetic.

When you thought about it like that, you were happy to spend your first days of work with him. There could be no better partner for the start after a long pause. And even if it was only for a little while, you believed that you found a friend.

Lost in thoughts, you registered at the counter and entered the great hall.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were animated, curious what the day had to offer. Since you worked with Connor your day became much more lively. Not necessarily the job itself, but the roundabout. The atmosphere, the feeling.

It was nice.

No pressure, no urge to peak to impress everyone. You were here because you were full of zest and action.

Just like before.

You proceeded to the desk, Connor dedicated to you. With an unconscious smile on your lips, you put your bag on table and took out your phone and your tablet.

With a chirpy sigh, you dropped yourself into the chair, which gave in with a squeak.

Something was odd.

A light was shimmering from the corner of your eye. Looking up from your phone, you realized that the computer was turned on. The screen showed several tabs opened. Someone was doing researches on that one.

But why should someone-

Your smile faded.

Oh.

You turned in your chair and indeed, behind you there was a worn-out stale leather bag. He didn't bring it around much, you recognized it anyway.

Your heart tightened.

Your gaze rushed to the next desk, but it was empty.

You jumped up.

In a corner of the room, you caught Connor talking to a person. He seemed to notice your presence and turned into your direction. Probably realized what he was up to. His eyes flashed and he ended the conversation to come over.

Even before he was there, he began to prepare explanations.

“I know it was supposed to be different...” He stayed on the other side of the table. Put his hands on the table. “But he felt good enough to go out and didn't want to stay at home any longer, so...” His eyes went down.

You lowered your gaze and took a few steps out of the table so that you stood directly opposite each other. Leaning against the table, both eyes were resting on your hands.

So he was back again.

“You're glad that he's back on his feet, right?” you said, head still down. It felt weird. You didn't know what to do now.

Where was your place when it wasn't right here.

With your eyes on the table's surface, you pushed the Lieutenant's CD-collection back and forth.

You looked for friendly words. Something you could say, to tell him you're happy for them to be back as a team.

But as you couldn't find the genuine sympathy, a gray shadow spread. You wanted to stay.

It wasn't your place to raise a claim. To bargain, that this one day left should be yours. That the Lieutenant should stay at home in his bed. At least that one day.

That would be silly.

You had to yield. Every objection would be unjustified and every attempt useless.  
And it would mean no farewell. You'd see each other on a number of occasions. It wasn't even a good-bye.

But it stung. And it stung badly.

“How much it makes me happy to see Hank being fit and well..,” he paused, "I'd liked to have you a little longer as my partner, Amelia."

The corner of your mouth twitched. By the mere thought of it, several pictures popped into your head.

And out of nowhere, you remembered the warmth of his hand on your skin.

Rubbing off that goofy smile, your face must have worn, you start digging through your bag, that's still on the table.

"Oh right," you began, searching for the file you created last night... But originally you just wanted to hide your rose cheeks from his sight by burying your face in your backpack.

You tossed the dark blue file on the table. "I was getting busy with collecting the information we gathered within the last days." You shove it over to Connor.

It took him a moment. He glanced down at the file, then up to you, and back down to the file.

“I had some free time yesterday and wrote down everything that could be useful. Maybe we could look over it together. I mean, you know. Wouldn't hurt." Your hands disappeared in your jacket.

He took the folder and leafed through.

His eyebrows knitted as he scanned the pages."That's a really elaborated account of the last days," he said, lowering your folder made of about 20pages of notes.

"Yeah, I know... It's simply all I could remember." You grabbed the folder from his hand and opened the last pages. "I cut it down to the important things. But I wasn't sure if important for me is important for you so I brought the other list as well."

You placed the document upside down and moved your finger over the paper.

“Here I have a roundup. I think those are the thing we should lay further notice on-,” You bit your tongue, “- Eh, I mean you and the Lieutenant.”

Hopefully, he wouldn't get the feeling that you forced yourself on him.

“Um, to be honest, we were about to leave. There was an attack in Downtown. As soon as Hank's back, we go.” He turned the folder back around to you, carrying a weak smile. “Next time.”

You responded with an outgoing fake smile and took back the folder. “Yeah, sure! Of course. No problem. I'll just send it to you, so you can check it out when you have the time.”

Oh dear Lord! Stop making such a fuss about it, Amelia. It's not like he'll vanish.

“Or-,” he linked his arms behind his back, tilting his head, “- how about we arrange a meeting for tomorrow. And we read over it together.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It would be a shame to miss your opinion on that, Detective.”

You panted a quiet laugh, hiding your face behind a strand of hair.

Was it was what you thought it was?

“Anyway, if you're already busy for tomorrow, I'm certain, that we'll be able to catch up on that at some time. After all, we'll run into each other almost every day. And if I'm allowed to say that, I'm looking forward to that.”

A tingle rushed through your body and left you with a strange feeling from your head to your toes. It made you smile.

You raised your eyes. He was so calm. So serene. His words were led by his professionalism and his stance was nothing but friendly. And yet you felt so special as those dark eyes looked at you with such care.

“I'm excited to hear that.”

A surprised face looked at you. His brows jumped up and except a quick blink, his expression froze.

A slight red glint laid over his cheeks.

Before he could respond anything, a big figure shoved itself between the two of you.

“Don't mind me,” his hoarse voice excused, “Just an old man coming through, trying to get to his desk.” Pointedly pushing you and Connor apart from each other, he sat at his desk.

Successfully drawing your attention, you and Connor looked at the Lieutenant who just started a new round of Spider Solitaire on his computer.

Of course.

You shoved your bag to the end of the table and walked around to the other side. It was his desk so you gave him some space.

Additionally, you felt awkward. Especially now that he interrupted you like that. The air was suddenly stuffy and you and Connor went quiet. You felt caught, though you did nothing but talked.

Making an effort to look anywhere except the other one's eyes, you shifted and turned. Shoulder to shoulder you stood there. The one facing to the right, the other to the left. Your heart kept beating up to your ears.

You glanced up, bandying a shy look.

Surprised to meet his eyes, you were about to flinch away, but Connor maintained the eye contact. Big eyes full of curiosity were resting on you.

And your mind went blank for a second.

...

“Lieutenant!” you jolted up, turning around with a bright smile. “I see you recovered brilliantly! How are you feeling?”

The old man raised a brow, confused by the sudden attention he received. But one second longer staring into those pretty eyes and you'd be pudding.

“I'm fine. Thanks, kid.”

A polite half-smile rushed over his lips. With a short glance up to his partner, he turned back to his computer.

Not the distraction you hoped for. You rolled your shoulders.

“I should probably go,” you said, putting your bag on your back. With curled lips, you nudged Connor slightly. “Then I'll wish good luck for your investigation.”

“Lieutenant.” You nodded over to his desk. He peace-signed into your direction, keeping his usual, impassive face. You panted a short laugh.

“I'll ask Fowler if there's anything for me to do.” You held onto the strap of your bag.

Connor nodded absently. “Yeah, yeah do that.”

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you mumbled another, “Yeah...,” and took the first step back, into the direction of Fowler's office.

Connor shifted and adjusted his tie. “Yeah, I think we should go, too.” He knocked on the table. “Hank, you heard me? Let's go.” A reluctant grunt came back.

Holding back a smile, you turned around walking off to the Captain's office.

“Don't forget, that we wanted to meet tomorrow,” Connor called after you.

You turned around on your heels and your forehead creased. “I don't know if I'm free tomorrow.” Your lips curved into a cheeky smile. “But I'm surely free this evening,” you said, subtly winking at him.

With a sharp laugh, he leaned against the table and winked back at you.

You almost choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait... is that a date? Or a meeting? O.O 
> 
> If it was an invitation, it was surely awkward for Hank to sit right next to it. I mean, he's gone for like 2 weeks and his boy gets a date? Okay, mate.
> 
> But we will see how it works out. Amelia's way too professional to fall in love with a co-worker. But damn that man's something! 
> 
> And! we learned how Amelia deals with her oversensitivity on a daily basis. Obviously she's not as fine as she originally said.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh Dear... That was taking longer than expected. 
> 
> Hey everyone! I had some long shifts last week so I'm a bit late again... Like always. o~o
> 
> I can't promise anything but the next chapter is paper-finished, so I just have to type it in and make it a bit more pretty :D!
> 
> Would you start a relationship at your workplace? Or is that a no go? ... Are you even working? How old are my readers? o.O (I should reconsider that if I should ever start writing smut)
> 
> Wish you all a very wonderful weekend!


	21. They shot my snacks!

February 3rd,2039

5:35 pm

“Ahhhh. Nothing. Oh, look! More nothing! Wow. We're so useful!” Gavin gnashed from behind his binoculars. “Just watching TV, no shady business here!”

You laid upside down on a funnel, eating apple chips. “And now?”

He shook his head.

You rustled with your bag of chips. “Aaand now?”

A mitten flew up into your face.

Your response was a giggled, “Ouch.”

He sighed. “Why be surprised! ...What else could you expect if you walk up to your boss and say,” he lifted his hands to make air-quotation marks, “I've got absolutely nothing to do right now," with a pitched voice he imitated you, "I don't CARE what, just give me work!”

Sloppily dropping his hands he set on his bitchface. “Bullshit!”

You turned around, sitting straight. “I mean what I said. I don't bother chilling at the roof, doing some observation.”

“And what about me??”

“Oh stop whining," you rolled your eyes, "At least you won't have to pay me back for the dinner you owe me for taking your gun.”

Giving you a short grumpy glare, Gavin turns back to watch the apartment through the binoculars. “Yeah, you're right,” he grouched. “Where is it, by the way? Locked it in my drawers?”

You swallowed.

The gun fell completely out of focus the moment you hopped into the police car. You must have taken it home that night. It probably laid on your night drawer. Or was shuffled under your laundry.

And you choked on an apple chip.

With blocked airways, you coughed and retched for air. Snatching for something to drink, you downed the rest from your nearly frozen can of soda, that stood out in the cold the whole time. The cold bit your teeth and ran down your spine. You shivered.

Gavin raised a brow, glancing back for not more than a second. “What?”

You gulped, inhaling deeply. “I think it's still at home.”

He fell silent for a moment. “...Shit...”

You shifted. He sounded angry. “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. But there was this girl and we went to the precinct because she was afraid of being alone with Lars and James because they are men, and that was okay in that situation, so I-”

“Not that!" He thrust the binoculars into your hands. "Look!” His index pointed to the other side.

Looking through the binoculars, you witnessed a couple of people surrounding a coffee table. At first you thought he was intending to point out that finally someone appeared to show up. But looking at it more closely, you recognized that it was loaded- and really loaded with white packages. It wasn't hard to guess what was inside them, especially because almost all of those guys were carrying weapons...

So much to say about 'nothing going on'.

A bright flash was thrown at the wall, made you lower your binoculars and turn your head around.

Looking to your left, you regarded a genuinely startled Gavin Reed, who was seriously reconsidering his life-choices. With his phone directed to the ongoing deal, he speechlessly stared at the window. Eventually he lowered his phone and his eyes darted down to you. “We're spotted.”

Over there, you recognized the guys from the apartment- you know, those with the heavy guns- watching you through the window. It didn't take long until several heads gathered around the window frame. Angered eyes. Deeply wrinkled foreheads. All attention was suddenly yours. Lucky you.

**Detective Rule #013 Make sure the flash is off.**

Exchanging some glances, they started to fumble around the window. First, you wondered what the were doing, but then it hit you- how else could it be -like a flash. Suddenly the window opened.

With a jerk, you pulled at Gavin's arm to drag him to the ground. “Duck!”

You'd guess that you've interrupted something very special because the second you hid behind the concrete railing, those dear gentlemen greeted you with a hail of bullets.

Hands shielding your head, you leaned to Gavin. “We have to stop them!” you yelled.

He flinched by a bullet that flew straight over his head. “Oh!” he scoffed, “That's a terrific idea! Why don't you go ahead and I'll stay here. Alive.”

“Shut up! Maybe we could try to convince them that we're civilians! Just like... relaxing on the rooftop. A couple.”

“Oh great! Cuz, I feel really relaxed right now!” he shouted. “How do you suggest that we make that clear? Because I'm not gonna kiss you! That's disgusting.” His face twisted like he was gonna throw up.

"You'd rather be shot?!"

He nodded with big eyes. "Absolutely!"

One last shot right over your head and it was quiet. No more bullets.

Yet not brave enough to peek over the wall, Gavin glanced over his back. "You think that's it?"

Raising the bag of chips above your head, you hear a significant 'bang'. Both of you recoiling, you beheld the shot hole in your apple chips. You exchanged a troubling look.

More annoyed than actually worried, Gavin grabs his mobile radio. A distinctive noise sounded as he pressed the button. "It's Detective Reed. I need assistance at the Glendale Street. North of the Rouge Park. Fire exchange. About 7 men."

" _Casualties?_ " A female voice responded straight.

Gavin took the bag of chips, staring at it in alarm. "Not... yet."

" _A patrol is on their way_ ," the electric sound ended the call. Gavin put away the radio and cautiously peeked over the wall.

At the same time, you turned to the left. From the corner of your eyes, you could glance through the metal grid to your side and noticed a bunch of men. They were running across the street, up to the house you're just at. Suddenly Gavin flinched.

Spitting an offended, “Ouch!” he pressed his fingers to his cheek, blood dripping down his wrist. Oh no. If he gets another scar because of you, you'll have to listen to that forever.

“Gavin,” you said, getting on your knees, ready to crawl to the door, “we need to get out of here!” Giving him a demanding look, he barely raised a brow, moving not an inch.

“We should definitely wait here. You heard her, backup's on their way,” he gritted his teeth while talking. Must've been a deep scratch he got there. You didn't like getting shot. Even if it's just a graze, it burns like hell.

But all pity to the side, his missing commotion wasn't enough for your nervous heartbeat. You grabbed and tugged on his leg. “You don't understand! There are people getting up here right at this moment! And if the bottle us up we're-”

“We're fucked,” he ended the sentence realizing the situation. Eyes beginning to gleam, he leans over crawling up to you. Tilting his head, he glanced over. “Ladies first.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you scuttled ahead, your partner right behind you.

And that was what it was.

Playful.

You were nervous and even a bit frightened, and lucky that none of that bullets hit you, well at least not ...much. But it was so much fun. That jumpy, prickly feeling in your guts when adrenaline kicks in and it feels a bit like a roller coaster. That was your drug.

Gavin knelt up, reaching for the doorknob, quickly pulling it open. As you scurried into the staircase, you reminded yourselves of toddlers, sneaking into the kitchen to steal Mommy's cookies.

You were aware of the situation and all this should probably concern you more than it actually did. It should be ominous or suspense-packed. But it was a feast.

Once in the room, you chose to go back to standing on your feet. Gavin shut the door and you stood in the dark. Only the little light from the staircase under you enlightened the place. Barely enough so that you could see each other. You heard the footsteps downstairs.

You closed your eyes and gathered your thoughts to concentrate on the noise their feet made.

Scaling down the filter, you erased the unimportant sounds, like inhabitants, electronic devices, talking, Gavin's heartbeat, your blood, breathing in general or white noise. You wanted to hear the sound their feet made when hitting the wooden stairs. You heard many irregular steps. Some were louder some were quieter. Distinguishing between the pattern of steps and the weight they put in their walk, you tried to puzzle it together.

The light-footed one was faster than the others and the closest. One was slow but not heavy, he was extremely careful and stopped often. Two others were neither especially fast or slow, nor heavy or light. They set apart by their rhythm. If you'd go down you'd have to handle with two of them immediately consecutive.

You should keep in mind that all of them carried weapons before they came over to play. You didn't see a reason for them to put them down now.

Gavin clenched and unclenched his hands, “How many?”

Your eyes opened again. “Four.”

“Fuck.” A huff came from his mouth.

Best would be to knock out one after one, but you won't be that lucky keeping in mind, that two of them are close behind one another. You were à deux, that was good. But the only weapon you'd have was your keys. Not that mighty.

Nevertheless, you liked it better without blood and unbearable pain. On any side. So you should be careful.

“Ams, I really don't wanna stress you out, but I think we should get going now,” he said in an undertone. “We need a plan.”

Nodding, you stared into nothing. “Yeah,” you said low and rushed down.

Gavin grabbed the railing almost falling over it by leaning too forward. Horrified, he watched you running down the stairs and whispered a nervous, “Oh God.. What- are you doing?”, after you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah well... I accidentally submitted that chapter before it was done, so if someone noticed that...that was my sorry ass not paying attention while editing. 
> 
> Anyway! I'm gonna be pretty busy for this week so we will see how it will work out with the next update. 
> 
> This chapter was originally supposed to be 3-times longer and now I just cut it here, cuz I need some sleep. But I think it's a good place to stop. And btw I re-read my first chapters and edited the format, again. Man, you rabbits should really tell me if it looks like ass... Sadly I cannot let you make notes at the specific line, like it's at Wattpad. 
> 
> Nah, maybe we'll just keep it that way, so I don't have more work than necessary.
> 
> Nice week, guys!


	22. *slurping sound*

February 4th, 2039

6:13 p.m.

 

Opening... Record_video_2/2/2039_BlueJazzClub/739926764829020273

Play... Record_video_2/2/2039_BlueJazzClub/739926764829020273

Initializing... Screenshot-SoPJ67-Blue-Jazz

...Sending

Sent.

 

“Okay, yes I have it. Wait, I'll pull it through the identification system.”

“That won't be necessary, Jennifer. It's not working,” Connor stepped over a heap of broken glass. “I tried it out myself before. I suppose the software is corrupt. It's reacting with arbitrary ID's from European citizen who doesn't match the target,” he said, mindlessly dodging a group of Policemen.

Jenny's voice went quiet for a moment. “Someone- Someone hacked our ID-system?”

“Obviously. The scanner's impeccable when scanning other subjects, so I presume him to be the issue.”

An ambulance siren banged through the street.

“Ugh,” a groan came from the other side of the line cringed by the loud noise, “Connor, what's going on there? What's that bluster all around you? I thought you went home.”

Striding to the side, he made way for a bunch of paramedics, cupping his phone to shield the noises. “We were on the way but stopped at a convenience store. A group of young adults were rioting and tearing apart the shop. They battered a few customers and the owner.”

Jenny gasped. “Oh God, are you okay?”

“Gladly, me and the Lieutenant could avert further damage. There is no need to be worried. But I appreciate your concern, Jennifer.”

His eyes swayed over to the corner of the room where two of the teenagers were getting trounced by Hank. Connor couldn't hear what he yelled into their frightened faces, but he could read his lips. And those words were not gentle. He turned around, peeking through the shop window.

“If we cannot find him over the digital ID system, we should think of a substitute. Are there printed folders, we could check on? One cannot rule out the possibility that he was conspicuous before,” Connor suggested.

“Oh, that could work. Okay, I'll see what I can scratch together and tomorrow you can fish out whatever you need.” A scribbling rustled through the receiver. She had one of those classic notebooks. “Oh! Right," her voice jolted up- something crossed her mind. "I checked on the license plate."

Connor pricked up his ears. “And?”

“No good. The car was stolen from an urban parking lot. Albin Badura was seen on a video camera as he broke into it. Later it was found in another parking lot. The only traces they left were the fingerprints of Badura. So they gave us an obvious lead and shot him before your eyes,” she updated Connor, ending with a deep sigh.

That had to mean that they intended to get rid of Badura from the beginning. They got more and more little information but instead of really answering questions, it was only getting more complicated. He mustn't forget to add this to the case files later on.

“That's indeed troublesome. Sadly it's taking longer than we hoped it would. In any case, I thank you for your help. Nevertheless, I have one last question.”

“Sure what is it?”

“Do you happen to know if Detective Rockland has finished her observation yet?” It was weird to call her by her last name. Yet it was hard to turn it off. It was simply a reflex to talk in such a stiff manner in front of Jennifer.

“Euhm, No I don't think she came back already. If you want to I can call you when she's back." Connor could hear a pinch of amusement in her voice. "Shouldn't be too long.”

“Who are you talking to, boy?” Hank's rough voice made Connor raise his head. He stood a couple of steps behind him, slurping the last bit from his slush. “Your -”

“It's Officer Lawson,” Connor interrupted his partner. He knew right away that he was about to make girlfriend jokes again.

He has done it all day. 57 innuendos. Retrospectively, it wasn't such a good idea to ask her to meet up, with Hank sitting right to the side. He was aware of the fact that his words were comparable with an invitation to a romantic arrangement. Hank made sure to remind him of that ambiguity the whole day.

Hank's eyes grew shiny. “Oh tell her 'Hi',” he leaned into the phone, “Hi sweetheart, how are you?!”

“Hi, Hank! I'm okey-dokey, and you?”

“Ah you know, the cold's still fighting but I'm-...”

Connor switched off.

He knew that for him that conversation was over now.

Jennifer and Hank's bubbly chats could last hours. Especially in the most inconvenient situations. Like after a long shift with one step out of the office when even Connor just wanted to go home. More than once he had suffered under an obnoxious long banter. It was always the same, well-being, family, free time, work, pets.

Jennifer was a nice woman and she and Hank were good friends, but for what reason they had to gibber without pause whenever they met? Weren't they running low on topics at some point?

In those situations, Connor went into flight-mode and just heard white noise coming from the end of the line.

After a while, Connor managed to get Hank to leave the shop. Since he was the one who held the phone, he simply had to lure him through the exit, and like a well-trained Old English Sheepdog, he followed around.

Out on the street, Connor was confident that it wouldn't take too long until Hank would grab his phone and hold it by himself. Until then, Connor walked by his side, holding it up. He felt a bit like a butler. It was no reason to feel offended, especially since Hank was carrying their purchase in two big paper bags and had no hand free. Yet he wouldn't hate to switch objects. But this did not happen.

Normally Hank was eager to end his people contact quickly and kept it short and distant, but Jennifer was indeed different, maybe it was her kind nature that made him so chatty.

Connor, on the other hand, was tangled in his usual reticence. Everyone seemed to get along with her perfectly well. But Connor was restricted by himself. He couldn't cope with being the only person who would not get along with her, so he prevented trying it in the first place. At a certain point, he reached his limit and was more than torn between being happy for his friend having a good conversation and taking that phone and tearing it into halves.

And then, after felt hours and true minutes, she hung up. And, God, was he glad that she finally hung up. With a sharp exhale, he dropped his arm and stuffed his phone back into his jacket.

"Oh man," Hank still snickered to himself over their talk, "that girl's just crazy."

Seeing his partner delighted like this let Connor's annoyance from before quickly fade away. He wasn't like this with everyone and he should be happy for him. Just because Connor couldn't talk to his peers like that, it didn't mean that he shouldn't.

Connor took one of the bags and inclined his head. "We could invite her for dinner at some point if you want. Now that we're about to start preparing proper meals, we should invite some guests every now and then."

He received a doubtful glance. Hank didn't like new people at his house. Dotting in quickly was no problem, but keeping visitors the whole evening? It was a matter of privacy. He bought this house with his ex-wife and they lived here together for a long time. It was the place he raised his son. It was the safest place he had. And then inviting people? But this secluded lifestyle could use some change. For Connor, it was worth a try.

Hank stuck his nose into the paper bag. "I think before we invite guests, we should try out cooking something first. I don't know what you've got there in your bag, but I can't think of anything we could conjure with those," he said, scrunching up his nose.

Now Connor inspected his bag's content, as well. "I was so focused on the nutritional information, that I wasn't minding. But," Connor looked up, "To be honest, I wouldn't know even if I had paid attention to it. How should I know what food matches best."

"For fuck's sake, Connor," he muttered under his breath, "look at all this rabbit food..."

Connor clenched his jaw. "It's healthy."

"It's plain."

His expression hardened. "If you lack the drive to care for your diet yourself, you'll eat whatever's served, Lieutenant."

"Wow," Hank laid his head back, gazing at Connor, "That's quite a tone, young man. Do I need to call your girlfriend?"

"Ahrg, she's not-" Connor bit his tongue, shutting himself up. It had no use.

Smirking, Hank took out his keys, walking to the car waiting at the end of the street. "Oh boy, you're getting flustered so fucking easily. I've been teasing you all day and you're blushing every damn time," he snickered, unlocking the doors. "Jesus, if you're like that when she's not here, I don't wanna imagine how jazzed you are if you two are alone."

His words tugging at Connor's pride, Connor sat down in the passenger sear. "I'm actually much cooler when I'm with her," he sulked, correcting his tie in the side mirror.

Sitting down, Hank snorted a deep laugh, which quickly turned into a barking cough, and then back into a somewhat hoarse laughing.

"What?"

He shook his head, panting in amusement. "Nothing, nothing. It's just the first time I heard you saying that you're cool. And that in a situation, where you were anything but cool." Squeezing his eyes together, he did his best to swallow his exhilaration.

With tight shoulders and a stone-like face, he turned his torso toward his partner. "Lieutenant, you're a bad person."

"And you're still blushing."

"I'm not-!"

Connor's ringtone broke off the conversation.

"It's Jennifer," he said, checking the screen. "Probably it's about Amelia." He faced away from that hinting look Hank darted at him and answered the call. "Hello, Jennifer. What's the matter?" His voice instantly changed as he picked up.

"Heeey," she murmured, "You said, you'd like to know when Amelia's back, right?" The apologetic tone in her voice made him nervous.

Connor nodded, though she couldn't see her. "Yes. That's correct."

"Well," she inhaled sharply, "I've got good news. And I've got bad news."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you say that those were two consecutive cliffhangers? 
> 
> I was constantly editing my former chapters, so I kinda lost track of the time, but at least I made a chart for the next...8? chapters. So the big turn of events is within reach and getting closer every time I release a chapter. If I had my way, I'd release those 8 chapters within 14 days, but I know me too well. That's not gonna happen. 
> 
> Actually, now that I made that flowing chart, I'm a bit whetted. And since it worked out before, I'm gonna update chapter 23 tomorrow. It's not like I got anything to do anyway. 
> 
> We're slowly drawing closer to April, but it's only cloudy and stormy. I'm looking forward to the spring-summer season. I dreamed about summer some days ago, and I was really pissed when I woke up and the sky was gray and rainy.  
> Are you enjoying your weather, wherever you are? Is it nice?
> 
> I remember one of you being from Poland and one from Canada, at least I think so. And you guys can't have it much better than I, right? 
> 
> Man, I need some sun...


	23. And you are eating candy

Feburary 4th, 2039

8:08p.m.

 

With an apprehensive prickling up to his fingertips, Connor dashed through the entrance hall. The drive here was nerve-wracking. He couldn't stop worrying. Twitchy and restless he has been shifting around in his seat. A soon as they arrived he jumped out the car. Hank was already outdistanced by him at the parking lot. Passing the last few people who weren't home yet at the main hall, he came to an abrupt halt at her desk.

With haunted eyes, he gasped for breath and slammed his hand onto the table.

Jenny jolted up in surprise. “Connor, wha-”

“Where is she?” he blattered.

“Uhm,” startled by his sudden storm, she was nearly left speechless. After a second of wonder, she hesitantly directed her finger toward the back area of the department. “She- she should be in room 8.” Connor's head jerked to the side, following her gesture. “But, ehm- I'll-”

But Connor was already pacing down the corridor. Running past a couple of doors, he pressed his hand against the scanner to the Nr.8. The door slid to the side, emitting an electric buzz. Behind it, there was a well-lit room. Nervously he looked around until his expression froze. Like a block of ice, he congealed, right in the middle of the door frame.

“Oh!” you smacked your lips, sucking a lollipop. “Hey, Connor!”

He just gaped at you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, tilting your head while swirling circles with your cherry-red lollipop.

...How? He- He thought you were grievously injured. Broken limbs, shattered bones, flesh wounds, heavy bleeding. But as he looked at you, you only had a little band-aid on your forehead.

“Connor, what's wrong? Did something happen?” another voice came up.

His eyes drew across the room, realizing that there were also Midge, the medical specialist, and Reed present. Midge was storing away some utensils, while Reed sat across you. His face was batched up with a bigger bandage. There was blood seeping through the material on his cheek. Lastly, his attention drew back to you.

“You're- you're okay,” he breathed virtually silent. Relieved that you're not on the edge of death, he dropped his shoulders.

As the turmoil in him calmed little by little, and his head was clear again, he recognized the absurdity of all that. Raking his still trembling hand through his hair, the corner of his lips twitched.

He was worried sick. And you were eating sweets.

A creaking noise rustled throughout the room, as you stood up and took a few steps toward him. Now that you were standing, he could see that your knees were badly scratched. Your jeans were ripped and had blood stains on it.

“What do you have there?” You stuck your lollipop back into your mouth, and peeked into the paper bag, Connor forgot he was holding. “Is that your dinner?”

“Connor!” Hank's grumpy voice ringed through his ears. Both of you glimpsing into the hall, Hank was approaching you with weary legs. “You can't just jump out of my fucking car like that! You scared the shit out of me!”

Connor and you watch Hank trudging in, who apparently hasn't realized the whole situation, yet. As he entered the room, he stopped in a flash, perceiving you with astonishment. Mustering you from head to toe, he gave Connor a plain look.

“She doesn't look dead to me.”

Your head bobbed up. “Dead? Why should I be dead?” Your eyes drifted up to Connor.

Embarrassed by the misconceptions and the difficulties he burdened on Hank, his gaze wandered between you and him. While Hank appeared to be confident enough to watch Connor's own personal misery, you made the impression that this whole mess surprised you.

Nevertheless, he was in a sticky situation. After all his last actions were overly impulsive, especially for his standards, which occurred to him as quite unusual himself. Neither he'd like to blame Jennifer's inconclusive information, nor he'd like to make a fool of himself

In the end, he had to make up for his dishonesty within the last days.

“Yeah,” Connor huffed, putting the groceries to the side. “Jennifer said you were brought to the infirmary and I guess I was just really worried. I'm sorry if we've made a fuss about nothing.”

“You made a fuss about nothing,” Hank snarled, “I was just driving.”

Connor gave Hank an irritated look. There were days when that man was driving him insane. Nudging him slightly, he set on a polite smile. “In any case, I hope you are well.”

Getting the hint Connor gave him, Hank twaddled over to the table, grabbing one of the cherry-lollipops and sat down at the table.

“I think we're fine. Midge said it could get a bit dizzy up here,” you held your head, ”but as long as I don't have to operate heavy machines, I'll be fine.”

Connor chuckled. “So the dramatic entrance was completely unnecessary?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, that was cute.”

In the same moment, Gavin slapped his knee and stood up. A camped yawn and a long stretch were his obvious excuse to leave.

“It's late already and I still need to..- yeah you know. So!” He swung his coat over his shoulder and walked toward the door. “Good night, Midge. Good night, Ams. Lieutenant.” And without bothering a glance behind, he left.

Your eyes jumped to the door. “That was weird, don't you think?”

Indeed it wasn't. Probably it was just a situation he wasn't eager to deal with. Like Connor experienced Detective Reed so far, he wasn't the person who liked to be outnumbered. This constellation was simply unprofitable for him. He did not know his precise motivation to leave, but this reaction was expected sooner or later. He liked it better that way then some annoying jokes.

Connor pulled the cuffs of his shirt, following your line of sight. “I cannot say that I'm surprised by his behavior.” He glanced down to you. “I supposed you'd like to go home as well? If you'd like to we can give you a lift.”

You tensed up by his suggestion. Hopefully, he didn't say anything wrong.

“Or!” Hank heaved himself up on his feet, letting out an old-man-groan. “Or we finally get home and get dinner!” He took the paper bag and pushed back it into Connor's arms.

Curving around the bag, Connor and you exchanged a baffled look.

“Ehm, Hank,” Connor said, as Hank was about to exit, “Originally Amelia and I had intended to work on-”

“Ah no, it's fine, really,” you broke him off, waving your hands before you. “I wouldn't want to push myself onto you. I'll just walk home and-”

Hank screwed up his face. “Walking home? It's freezing out there, are you insane? No, I need your help. This dummy here brought a ton of food and has no idea what to do with it.” He waved you to follow him. “Now move your ass, it's dinner-time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep it short:
> 
> I'll continue writing tomorrow.
> 
>  
> 
> zZZzzZZ Good night


	24. Booty call get's a totally different meaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm not dead! And this is technically not the whole chapter but I thought I give you something to read so you won't forget me ;) 
> 
> I might be morphing this one and the coming chapter together, but we will see, in any case I'll let you know. 
> 
> Enjoy~

February 4th, 2039

8:30 pm

 

The hall was really quiet. Much more tranquil than over the day-time. Right now was the interim phase between night and day shift. And no one was exactly eager to start the evening.

It was not desolated. The desks were not empty. But the people dragged their feet over the linoleum. The light was brightening the room. But no one said a word. Only the coffee machine dribbled. It was a bit ghostly.

“Oh sorry, Connor! I didn't know it wasn't serious,” she gasped, covering her mouth, “I just saw them coming in and I just saw blood! And after all what happened, I kinda panicked and thought of the worst. If I'd known that you'd be storming in with a racing heart rate...” Jennifer's voice sunk low for a moment. “I wouldn't have mentioned it. Sorry for making such trouble.”

A faint pout on her lips she turned to you, “Are you okay?”

A half-smile popped onto your lips. “Yeah, you know, I rolled down a couple of stairs but I'll live.”

You might have laughed it off, but he saw that little cringe as you stemmed your scratched hands onto your hips.

Statically Connor stood to the side to the Officer's workspace. He might not genuinely appreciate Jennifer's talent for wrapping people into a conversation, but he had to say she was remarkably skilled in doing so. This was the fourth time this day that she challenged his patience.

Not bad, considering you and Jennifer's chat was the only loud conversation to witness in the department.

Jennifer breathed easily. “Splendid, sweetie. I really hope you keep yourself out of trouble. At least for the first week,” she giggled. “And wasn't Gavin bleeding? Is he okay?”

“Nah, don't worry, Gavin's fine!” You waved off her concern. But suddenly your expression dropped. “If he's keeping a scar from it- I'm finished.”

“Well... But,” Jennifer rested her head on her palm. “I think another scar could look nice on his handsome face...,” her voice trailed off.

Not certain how to cope with that statement, he tried to evaluate her opinion. The definition of attractive might be something too complex and subjective to just deny it...

…

But not Reed. No. Come on this must be a joke.

Out of pure curiosity, he glimpsed over to you to check on your evaluation. You wrinkled your brows.

Indeed all three of you screwed up their faces.

With put on caution, you neared Jennifer's desk and leaned down to her. “Are you..,” you nearly choked on your words, “Do you like- Do you like Gavin?” The played horror on your face was amusing.

In the back, you could hear Hank silently curse to himself.

Jenny erected with wide eyes. "What? No, what nonsense! I'm married, for God's sake!"

Realizing her strong reaction, she bit her tongue. Back on her seat, she put her chin on her hand again.

"I only think he's handsome. I wouldn't want to date him. No... I actually don't think that I'd be matching with his choleric personality."

You crossed your arms, gritting your teeth. “Oh yeah. That can be a pain sometimes. Such a temper.”

Jennifer drummed her pen on a notepad. She shrugged. “He's more the impulsive kind of person.”

“Impulsive. Right.” Hank panted a snide laugh, arms hugging the paper bag. “Remember this-,” he held up his index, thinking of the word, “-this. Ugh, this Red Lady? ...Roxanne?”

Whereas Connor associated less with that title, you and Jennifer seemed to know very well what of what he was talking. With one voice you two groaned.

Jennifer covered her mouth, a smirk creeping up. "Oh god, that was horrible. I thought that was his death day."

You shielded your eyes. Apparently, you felt more shame than amusement, cause Connor couldn't find a smile in your face. Instead, there was a big frown.

"Up to the doorstep, she took him," you muttered, "How stupid a man can be."

His eyes jumped around between the 3 of you. What was happening here?

Jennifer giggled. "But nothing compared to the one time Ian and I had this really weird guy. You know this one with the shoes"

"Shoe Shawn?" Hank guessed.

Shoe Shawn?

"I dare say you mean that guy who ate his shoe?" You raised an eyebrow.

Connor realized where this was going.

"No, that was shoe shaggy," Jenny corrected.

"Really? I always thought that was Shoe Shawn...”

"No Shoe Shawn was the lunatic that fu-"

"Well!"

Connor cut off the storytelling. "Miss Lawson, I would truly relish staying to continue this wonderful chat. Nevertheless, I have to state that I consider it to be the wiser decision to depart.”

He took you by your shoulder and gently pulled you with him. With the other hand, he pushed Hank toward the entrance.

“There are certain affairs that require our regard.”

All eyes on him, he shoved you out like puppets. At least no one bothered to object.

“It was a pleasure to talk to you, Jennifer. You have my gratitude for your help. May you have a nice evening!” he bowed himself off before he dragged you out of the room.

With a more hurried than heartfelt goodbye Connor, Hank, and you left the department. Though it was already dark outside, the neon and street lights enlightened the road. The wet asphalt reflected the colorful shimmer. Cyan. Red. Green. And an orange that put a general atmosphere over the road.

Hank swiped away his hand from his shoulder and put some distance between him and Connor. A dark expression on his face, he stemmed his one free hand onto his hip.

“Can I ask you what the fuck that was?”

He wasn't seriously angry. Connor could see that. In the worst case, he was pissed. After all, ending a conversation like this wasn't the highest of civilities. But he was glad that he wasn't mad at him. That was just his temper.

“Of course you can,” Connor walked up to the parking lot. “One more minute and I would have been doomed to wait in the car until midnight. Just waiting for you and your friend to end your lovely little chat.”

Hank's face went blank. “You could have said something.” 

He honestly expected a bit more of an argument. Hank giving in like that was rare.

“And what?” He opened his arms, giving him an asking glare. “Sorry to interrupt, please let us go home. I can't stand that you come to no end. Come to an end. I want to go home. Thanks, good night.”

“Yeah”, he grumbled, “but you could have said this a bit nicer.” Stuffing one hand into his pocket, he walked past Connor up to the car.

Connor stayed behind cocking his head. “I think my words were more than polite!”

“Polite?” you smirked, “That was the most purple way to say anything ever that I heard from any human being I know.”

Snickering to yourself, you crossed your arms and followed Hank to the car. “Like some baroness.”

He would lie if he'd say he wouldn't have noticed it by himself.

As soon as Jenny was near, his words sounded like the conversational program on his hard drive. He unwillingly switched whenever he spoke to her. Her or any other person he wasn't comfortable around.

"Yeah well," he stopped on the sidewalk to tug his coat into the right position, "Just see it as a quirk of mine. Sometimes I simply talk in a very,” lifting his brow, he hiked his shoulders,” In a very formal manner."

Over your shoulder, you glanced back to him, with smiling eyes. The light glistened in them. It was barely a second. You hid your nose behind your scarf. The little strands of hair hanging loose and even the childish star-band-aid on your face.

Something told him, he won't forget this image.

“What is it?” you chuckled, “Something on my face?”

Following you, he crossed his arms before his chest. “I like your plaster," he said. But was he meant to say was something else.

He was really happy that you were alright. And that you were here.

You snorted. “Wanna have one, too?”

The corner of his lips curled up as he strode to your side. “I'll think about it.”

“Okay enough with the eye-sex, kids!” Hank gruffed, leaning onto the open car door. “I'm getting the oogies here. Now hop in!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the "Preview-version" of chapter 24! More is in progress.
> 
> I love the word. Oogies. OOOgies. Phonetically pretty hot. Oogies. 
> 
> Last couple of weeks were really busy for me and now that I have "vacation" I had time to mush together all the stuff I scribbled down on the way to work, before going to sleep, on my phone, you feel me. 
> 
> Aaaand it's pretty much and pretty messy so I have a big document where I try to get some structure into this english/german/denglish/one-word-sentence chaos. 
> 
> What I wanted to say is: 
> 
> I'm not dead.
> 
> I'm just occupied.
> 
> Ps: Do you know what the headline means? You get it?  
>  
> 
> Happy Easter everyone! 
> 
> Oogies.


	25. Sissy tight-clothed-pop-boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather was beautiful the last few weeks. Sun, sun, and sun. I started jogging a few days ago and it was so great to casually jog around while it's 19° C. And it was sunset-time. 
> 
> Oh and the view!
> 
> I live in a village near Berlin and 2 min away I have a 2 km trail leading to a small forest. And I tell you, I'm not into running but that atmosphere is a complete motivation booster. Sadly, it's getting cooler these days so I sit in my room, with pullover and a blanket. 
> 
> Here goes!

February 4th, 2039

8:50p.m.

 

From behind the stirring wheel, Hank shot a glance at him. He held open the door to the back, he waited for you to climb in. But you were standing still. Like your feet were glued to the ground your arms crossed, nails burying into the jacket. Scratching the leather. With a white face, your misted eyes stared onto the seats.

“Amelia?” Connor huffed more than actually saying it.

What was the problem?

Where you scared? It looked like fear. But why now? You already sat multiple times in that car. Why weren't you scared before? What has changed?

You came to no reaction.

Your abstraction frightened him a little. He just had a vague idea of what flashed through your mind. You had told him a lot about that accident. But hardly everything.

It was to expect that such a severe incident would cause some deep scars. More than just a headache in the morning.

"Detective.” Hank raised his voice in military command.

Your head jolted to him and the fog in your eyes lifted. Apparently, the strong call made it up to you.

Tuning in to reality, you blinked at Connor and then down at the car. "Oh right, sorry!" With a sudden vigor, you swung down and got in right away.

Watching you jump into the car without a second thought... Connor had a bitter feeling about it.

That just now was obviously something like a triggered memory. You were clearly unwell sitting on the backseat. But in the end, you decided on your own how far you can go. He just had to trust you with this. And so he let you crawl onto the backseat.

Not that he could do anything about it.

Hank drove off as soon as the last door shut.

It was a quiet drive.

Connor leaned against the frame, resting his head on the glass. Every now and then, he would peek over his shoulder or through the side mirror to check if you were alright. You pulled your jacket close onto your body, observing every little thing that happened on the street. Eyes hopping from object to object, the expression in your face became haunted.

If it really was okay for you to sit on the backseat?

Hank, on the other hand, was muttering how hungry he was or complained about the hardships of traffic. As the 3rd street light went red, he hit his face against the wheel.

Sometimes he was just grumbling all day.

Slowly it ticked even off the patient Connor. Who was above used to it. To shut him up, Connor meant to smother his nagging by a conversational attempt. Moreover, he was willing to divert you from your mental sorrow.

Connor turned in his seat. "Amelia.”

Your look flipped over to him but concentrated back onto the traffic right away. He followed your gaze but applied his attention back to you.

“Hank was hoping that you'd be more practiced in cooking than we are,” he cracked a smile and pointed at the grocery bag to your side, “If you want, just have a quick look and see if something compatible comes to your mind.”

Without further notice, you kept focused on the street.

"I'm looking forward to going through the file you created last night." He laid his head on the headrest and glanced back. "I hope you didn't forget to sleep over all the effort."

"...uhum."

He tried again a couple of times. But it wouldn't reach out to you; you didn't want to talk. And the longer you drove, the more your nails dug into the leather.

Your hands were trembling.

He wished he could tell Hank to stop so you could take a break. You were all pale, trying to shadow it the best you can. Hank didn't seem to notice.

Yet Connor couldn't stop turning around.

This was unwell. To distract you wasn't working and he wouldn't want to doubt your self-reliance. It was your own decision to get in, despite you were aware of the consequences. He had to respect that. You will know best how to cope with you.

It gave his heart a little crack nevertheless. He just wanted to join you on the back, comforting you until the ride was over.

Of course, that wouldn't be appropriated, too.

So he had to wait.

Slowly but surely the failure of act maddened him. Just like you with your jacket, Connor now had his hands clinging onto the seat belt. He observed the traffic.

For a blunt second, he wondered how much you and your 'disease' could see. How much information could you receive from your human senses? Was it alike to his perception, and if not, how big was the gap?

Probably, you saw more than most people would, judging by the way your pupils rushed from detail to detail with considerable pace. With that kind of attention, he could tell that Hank wasn't spreading the impression of a trustworthy driver. He shared that.

Hank wasn't a particularly bad driver. But a coarse one. And sometimes the co-driver life was a hard life.

You could probably confirm that.

With every lanky turn and each hard stop, you stemmed your feet against the floor. Like riding a roller-coaster. Striking parallels.

Hoping to ease the tension he reached to turn on the radio and some light-hearted pop music sounded through the car.

Something from the charts. Something bright. Nothing he or Hank normally heard. For the mere fact that Hank detested this kind of music.

And like he asked for it, Hank showed his dislike right away by radically turning it off. Connor couldn't quite understand what he said as he dragged on the buttons. Like a mush of swear words muttered into his beard.

Ill-humored he took the turn to a lively main street.

The abrupt bend caused the car to tilt towards the inner of the curve, pushing all of you to the right.

Connor held fast onto the belt. “You know, from time to time we could give different kinds of music a chance, too,” he said aloof.

“That's not music,” he barked, shoulder checking. “Those are no songs. This is synthesized babbling of premature children. Do I look like some teeny with a shrine for a sissy tight-clothed pop-boy?” He gave Connor a morose look.

Giving it a thought, Connor looked at the street. “Honestly, I wouldn't know how such a person would look like, Hank. So I can't answer that question.”

Hank responded with grunting and bowed down to fix a new channel on the radio. “You're unbelievable.”

He hated it when Connor played android on him. Of course, Connor knew that and, though, he despised it himself on a daily basis, it often provided him the victory in an argument. So why not.

Chin on his hand, he leaned to the side, watching Hank angrily searching for a broadcaster. “What's the problem?” he asked after a couple of seconds. “Don't find anything?”

The teasing was intended.

“Fuck's sake...you always have to gripe around, don't?” Frustrated by the old radio not bending to his will, his mood suddenly dropped. Grumpy turned into caustic.

“...Me?” Connor blinked. That was some brave accusation. “I'm the one griping? You might not remember, but some days ago you were the most complaining, whining and demanding 50-years-old baby anyone ever had to care for. So do me the favor and think before you cast the blame on me.”

By this time Hank tugged more at the breakers, than actually searching for a channel. “Ohh stop it! How long do you want to keep crying about that shit?!” He hit the dashboard. “You sound like an old lady!”

“I feel more like a fostress if you ask me.”

Hank's head jolted up hissing through his teeth.

“But maybe I didn't ask you!”

Connor bit his tongue. Ouch. Emotional damage detected.

He realized that there was no use in further arguments. He was only angry to be angry. Fine, he thought, then he can be as angry as he wants. But he won't play along.

“Just look at the street, Lieutenant,” he sulked with a little split in his heart. He crossed his arms and turned away.

But Hank wasn't ready to drop this conversation yet.

“Oh don't change the topic, son! We're not finished. You even know how hard you piss me off sometimes! You're so! ARGH!”

From the corner of his eye, Connor glanced at the street.

“Fussy! Demanding! And even though you're Mr. fucking-know-it-all, you can't even handle a washing machine! Oh, Jesus- and don't let me start over the endless times I had to-!”

Connor's blood ran cold.

 

“HANK!”

 

A violent slam on the breaks squeaked over the asphalt. Gravity did the rest. But instead of being pushed forward into the belt, Connor was suddenly pressed further into the seat. Loud honking sounded across the road. In the front one could see how the driver stared into the rear-view mirror in alarm.

Everyone was suddenly wide awake.

Barely 3 inches. Barely 3 inches behind the car that stopped so rapidly, you came to a halt.

Analyzing the situation, Connor realized the two arms wrapped around his neck. You hang from behind over his headrest, your hasty breath on his cheek. Pressing your sternly frozen fingers onto his chest.

Of course. That must have scared the hell out of you. His hand reaching out to consolingly hold your arm; he gave you the chance to settle down.

Now Hank rose up again. Bug-eyed he threw a glance at Connor. Then his regard fell onto you.

No matter what, he did not mean to frighten you. And Connor knew that. Hank was still a father and with that parental care was enclosed. If he wanted it or not. Especially, since also he knows about your past.

He had that look that said 'Sorry'.Then he dismounted. Checking on what just happened, he walked over. The driver ahead jumped out as well, bowed head and ready to apologize.

As far as Connor could judge the situation, something like a wooden beam fell onto the street. As a result, he broke hard.

Seemingly the safety measurements of the job site nearby are too sketchy. If the possessor of the subcompact would not have been fast enough to react, the beam could have done serious harm to the occupants of the car. On your left, the remaining vehicle paced by. They all had annoyed expressions on their faces.

Connor realized how you threw a glance at him. From behind a strand of hair, your eyes flickered. He still held your hand. And before he even had the chance to reassure you, you pulled back and let yourself fall onto the backseat.

Nearly more in surprise than from the almost-accident a couple of seconds ago, he turned around. With blurry vision, you blinked at him, mussing through your hair.

“Are you better?” He leaned his arm on the seat back.

“What?” You tensed up and folded your hands on your lap. With a blunt simper, you jerked your head to the window. “Sure! I- I Just,” you bit your inner cheek, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

What you said made him frown. What did you mean? There was nothing to apologize for. You were afraid and then they nearly crashed into a car. They were the one to blame. It was no fault of yours.

He wondered how you even managed to be that fast. Your seat belt was opened. The time it should take to acknowledge the danger, then to buckle off and on top of that to jump ahead quick enough to be at Connor before he even had the change to be swept forward, would never fit into such a 'moment of shock' situation.

How did you do that?

Never mind that you apparently had the fast reflexes of a mongoose- you were on the edge. Compressing your hands and biting your lips. You were exhausted on top on that Connor guessed you're pride being hurt. After all that struggle to keep it down.

Well, Connor had hardly the possibilities to fix that. But he could at least try to take you out of yourself.

The co-driver door swung open. Slightly irritated he peered up.

“Get out,” Hank ordered. His attitude was for his person neutral and friendly, but through his emphasis, it was clear that this was no bargain-able offering. “We switch, you drive.” Not quite understanding, Connor buckled off and stepped out the car.

“What are you doing?” Connor said in an undertone, shooting a glance at you and Hank.

Hank gazed onto the following street and the car's overtaking. He wouldn't look at him. “Look,” he licked his lips, “she's clearly better off when you drive.” His voice was low. “I know that, and I don't take it personally, so...”

It made him kind of proud to see his almost-adoptive-father acting this mature. Hank didn't like it when he was criticized or told he was wrong. It was probably hard for him to put your well-being over his own comfort zone. It was refreshing.

But just switching drivers alone won't do the trick.

“If we switch then we'll do it right.” Sweeping a look at you, he straightened his back. “Amelia's coming to the front.”

Hank, who's been staring into the distance until now, winced. Chewing his lip his eyes lowered down to his shoes until he blinked at Connor. “I should- So you want me to sit- In my own- Are you-” Hank cut himself off and sighed, dropping his shoulders. “Fine.”

A smile popped up on Connor's lips. “Thanks. You've seen how uneasy she feels sitting in the back. She wasn't like that in the front. I think it got something to do with the traumatic-”

“Guys I can hear you.”

Connor nearly choked on his own words. Eyes wide open, he darted back at you, sitting right behind them with the front door wide open.

“I'm sorry!”

The temperature in his body suddenly rose, rushing up to his head. Like an alarm system his heartbeat raced with high frequency, and the circuits in his lower torso felt like spraying sparks. All at ones. It was too much. He closed his eyes. What was that?

The back door opened. “Okay Missy, you heard him, go enjoy the front-life,” Hank said with less sullen words than Connor actually thought.

“I appreciate the offer, but you really don't have t-”

“Up.”

“...Yes, Lieutenant.”

The car bobbed down as Hank slumped onto the seats.

“You okay, Connor?” your voice popped up before his face.

Eyelids flickering open, he readjusted his sight. Circuits and heart rate at an adequate level. It was better now. Still a bit fluffy.

“S- sure.”

You lurched through under his arm, that rested on the car door, to get onto the co-driver seat. Stopping right before him, you gave him a look of expectancy.

You wouldn't buy that, wouldn't you?

“Yeah, I was just, you know....”

What was that just now? Heart, heat, sparks? Oh come on, Connor, you know that. Was that embarrassment?

“I think I was embarrassed... Right, really embarrassed!” he cheered, with a confident little smile about how he's finally getting the hang of it.

You knit your brows, a confused smirk on your lips. “Ookay. Yay?”

His smile broke a bit, making way for you to climb in. You mumbled something as you mounted, yet it was quite incomprehensible, so he wasn't sure what you really said.

Something like 'Well, that makes two of us.'

He closed the door for you and stalked around, finding his place behind the wheel. Buckled up, the first thing he did, was turning off the radio.

“You ready?” Connor threw a glance at you.

“Yeah, let's go.”

He looked over his shoulder. “I meant Amelia.”

“I'm ready anyway,” Hank mumbled to himself. The big guy had to sit in the middle to have enough space for his legs. Seems it had a reason he didn't want to switch. It appeared narrow back there.

In a second try, Connor directed his attention to you explicitly. Seat belt fixed, and arms resting in your lap, you nodded. It wasn't much, but you looked better.

Connor started the car and checked the ongoing traffic to line in. “Great, then let's go home.” With a smooth start, he entered the arterial road, ending in a busy junction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep it short
> 
> I'm gonna hurry for the next chapter


	26. Markus Part I: When the rain hits the ground.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... capslock on.
> 
> I'VE BEEN AT WORK FOR LIKE 12 HOURS AND NOW IM SICK! I HAD ANOTHER LONG SHIFT AND NOW I'M REALLY SICK! I'M SO THROUGH AND I'M HOT AND COLD AND SWIRLY! I MEAN SWINGLY! AHRGH I MEAN !!!!!DIZZY! NOW I WRITE THAT WIXXER UND GEH DANN INS BETT! WAIT THAT WAS WRONG LANGUAGE! SO BETTER PREPARE FOR A HOT CHAPTER! 
> 
> GOOD NIGHT! 
> 
> capslock off.
> 
> Edit: I re-read it. And I overhauled it.

 

 

 

 

 

5th February, 2039

3:02 am CET

Oslo, Norway

 

 

 

The TV casted a blue throughout the hotel room. Weary drops pattered against the long windows. Behind these glass walls the sky turned pitch-black. The city was asleep. Only the orange street light climbed up the skyscrapers, faintly shaping the city in middle of that gigantic darkness.

Not more than two hours. Then the first lights would gleam again.

What a beautiful silence.

The woman in the brightly colored suit mouthed the headlines of the day. The news channel were more bearable without sound. 

He just couldn't hear it anymore.

Phone calls, e-mails, messages, TV, yeah even social media posts. By now everything chased him.

And so he sat here. The night at its darkest, the life at its lowest. 3 am in Oslo. 

And the rain pattered against the glass.

> "How are we all gonna fit into this world that has barely enough place for the half of us?” writes Dr. Changette from France on his social media.

It didn't matter what kind of doctor he was, actually.

> “Could we answer for leading our own race into a disaster for the sake of someone else?”

Maybe a dentist. Anthropologist. Who knows. He meant what he said. I mean, he said it, didn't he?

Markus shifted in his chair, swiping to the next article. 

>  Dagbladet, a Norwegian newspaper, wears the headline: “Time to clear things up!”

Under it a picture of Prime Minister Snøg and Markus standing on a podium. Firmly shaking hands.

How positive that looked.

It was taken yesterday on the first official conference. Markus remembered that woman. Her and that bright smile. Her soft voice.

But those eyes mirrored scorn. It was burning through all those gentle words she placed so carefully.

It wasn't about helping. No good deed. It was just for the votes. 

Because they were the one's that cared. 

That November night reached the people all over the world. An argument broke out. Protests on the streets, just like back at home.

The 'Androids deserve to live'-endeavor began to gain on popularity.

Many thought of it as wrongful. They demanded change.

The negotiations weren't long in coming.

> "26 000 students signed the 'ADTL'. Country's leaders getting pressured," announced the New York Times last Wednesday.

It spread.

It were not even 3 weeks until the EU got in touch with Jericho. 

When the phone rung, it was clear he was the one. He was no politician. Not really. But they were his responsibility. 

So he was the one to go. One android against Europe.

> “I don't think anyone has even the chance to back off anymore. We're all in,” The British Parlament announced at its latest meeting.

The next day would be important. Tomorrow he had to proof it. To the world and its people. Proof that all this is worth the costs. That they are. 

> German foreign minister Zachary Meißner on ARD television: "They are our responsibility, we all know that. No one said it's gonna be easy. And it won't."

But before any of that could happen, he had to get through this.

> Last Friday in New York Times: "'ADTL' reaches 3 Million supporters."

His clenched hand laid under his lips, scrolling over the pages. He was gathering every little fibre of spirit that was left. He had to find the balance.

When a choice was made, he wanted it to be as fair as possible. No side should be favored over the other.

He swiped through the collected file of pro and con arguments. That was the easier part.

Lastly, another article showed. One he had to struggle with before, the biggest of their current problems.

The story was simple.

Originally, the human workers got replaced by androids to do work more efficiently.

Then lots of them lost their jobs. Androids were cheaper.

But now they were awake, developed a free will.

And they wouldn't want to keep working there.

And now are work forces missing everywhere. Yet they have too many workers. A paradox.

They would wanna know what he was willing to do against that issue. 

There were too many people and too less appropriated work for everyone. One can not simply force the next best job onto you.

If one was a highly respected manager in financial business, they wouldn't clean dishes.

And a long time experienced security officer should not be compelled to sell tickets at the subway.

But at the same time you don't want to pressure anyone to keep cleaning dishes or selling tickets at the subway, just because he was designed to do so.

That wasn't fair either.

And even with all the support he got from his friends. And all the love he carries in his heart. The love for his people. For their freedom. And for his own.

It will maul him.

He will have to fight the next battle. And after that the next won't be far. Where one storm ends the next fire already roars.

And as long as there is something to fight for it won't end.

There was a mountain up to his feet and its peak was not to see yet. His fingers were bleeding from the abrasive rocks. And when he was turning to see the ground, he realizes he hadn't come very far yet.

It will be a long, straining path.

And he has to be ready for it. 

 

 

> "Brenda Jerrington demands different pay wage between androids and humans. 'They don't eat, they need no heating, no shower[...] They simply spend less money. So why not save some cash?'"
> 
>  
> 
>  

> "Russia remains impassive."

 

 

> "Baltic states step out of the negotiations. 'We didn't sully our hands with that debacle.'"

 

 

> "I wish I would get that much attention for waking up lol."

 

 

> "That topic's just soo through. I feel like we're talking about that rubbish for ages now. Who even cares anymore."

 

 

> "JUST GIVE THEM THEIR GOD DAMN LIFE AND LET ME EAT MY SANDWICH"

 

 

> "Remember that whole 'your child doesn't need to be thankful, it didn't ask to be born'- thing? Yeah, feels pretty much like it."

 

 

> "No one is really free."

 

 

>  "I hope they just get their shit together. It's getting boring."

 

 

> "To be honest, I'm not being racist, but I would not feel comfortable with them having the same rights as us."

 

 

> "Like of all countries, 'Murica starts that shit. Boi what's happening???Aren't you busy bombing Syria or something?"

 

 

> "I'am against a purple world. Too much blue in it."

 

 

> "Popcorn, Wifi, Ready to see the world burn."

 

 

> "In the movies it's always affecting just the USA when shit's going down. Zombies. Aliens. Climatic disaster. And. You. Know. What. Let us keep it that way."

 

...

He stood up. Meandering over the dark brown oak floor, his black brogues clapping against the wood. The social media was... exhausting. It was useless to answer to it.

Sometimes it felt useless to answer anything.

Back in Detroit they were a team. It took them a while to figure things out but they did it. A mechanism. He felt like a leader back then. And they would win any fight. 

But now...

All alone it was like a weight he couldn't lift.

The people he lost, choices he made. Things he could have done different. Words he spoke, actions carried out. 

All the people he could have saved.

Then, at some point, every little failure sums up. Like a tower it builds. Higher and higher. Brick by brick. Mistake by mistake.

Pressing the tablet against his chest, he sunk against the window. The dark city right behind his back. It was just glass between him and the abyss. Just glass.

Arms dropping to the side, his eyes became weary.

Just the glass.

The blue became a hard, stabbing light in his eyes. He slid to the ground, a never depleted sigh on his lips. Rain pattering.

"I'm not a politician," he breathed to himself. His head sagging into his hands. The rain hit against his back. Like a drum.

A scratching noise halled over the table. Zizzling over the mahogany desk, his phone buzzer was on.

It was 3:21.

Heaving to his feet, he went to turn off the alarm. Then he de-muted the television. The news lady has disappeared and a new logo swirled over the display. As he hit the button, a smart melody ringed from the boxes.

 

 

21 21

With Mary and with Tom

-Daily Nights-

 

The transition ended with two young and over the top, highly motivated moderators appearing. Behind them a broad crowd of people, facing a stage.

A little bit punky, that's what they looked like. Piercings and dyed hair. Dark clothes. But still casual. The girl waved into the camera.

“What's up, Detroit!" she beams brightly, "That was Raid-at-Eight with our lovely Penelope Ramirez and the freshest fruits from world news! Welcome to 21-21!"

She turned to the man, hand in her hip. "Say, Tom, what do you have for us? Where are we tonight?”

Her partner opened his arms and stepped away a bit, presenting the location they were at.

"We are at the Chicago Boulevard!" The camera zoomed out, revealing a tall complex. "Right at the new Jericho!"

His shoulders dropped and Markus happened to stumble over a small smirk. 

There it was.

 

A painted banner hung from the windows. Jericho. It was an old building. The walls were a bit dirty and the windows rusty. Their Jericho. It was perfect. Their new home.

"That's right, Tom!" The woman was back in focus, holding her index up. "And today is the day. Today is the big day!" 

“Exactly, folks, listen up! Today's the one month anniversary of the Jericho-compact!" He made this brain explosion gesture. "Wow! I know, right!" 

"Anyway, while the android leader, Markus Manfred, is on a diplomatic mission in Europe, his right and left hands are inaugurating the new Jericho." She gestured towards the stage. "Amazotastic, right??"

"Any minute they are going to open the doors of Jericho for everyone. It will be a connection point, a headquarter, but mostly a home for all the androids."

Deafening cheers broke out.

Both anchormen darting their head to the stage. The aforesaid right and left hands of Markus arrived at the scene and hopped onto the stage. Waving and smiling. They looked like stars.

The camera focused back onto the both presenters. Behind them the cheering crowd.

"All right honey babies! We'll switch to the studio. And if you wanna see the first speech of New Jericho, stay with it!"

In the background Jericho got ready for their speech, as the camera zoomed out again.

"Now, what are you waiting for?" She yelled at the camera. "If anyone of you little fellas still has no plans for tonight, parties coming for you! Everyone who's peaceful is welcome to join us!"

Both threw up their arms, jumping and celebrating. The people behind them going with it. The camera wooshed through the crowd and lastly the transition was playing.

Then the speech.

The audience, the complex, the city and the stage. The picture constantly changed the angle.

But...

Where was-

 

Why was-

Markus phone rung again, buzzing in his hand. Standing in front of the TV, he stared down at the display. 

Wha-

He turned away from the screen.

"Why are you not on the stage? What happened" Markus babbled, pressing his phone to his ear. 

A short silence broke out.

"Euhm. Well, I-," he stumbled over his words. "You're always busy."

Markus turned on his heels, screwing up his face. "What?"

"I always try to contact you. Either you're in a conference or working."

He bit the inner of his cheek.

That might possibly be caused by the fact that he was always busy. What was he going to say with that?

It's not that he wasn't trying. He just didn't had the time to call every day to check in. What was he expecting of him to do? It's not that he wasn't drowning already or something.

Markus closed his eyes, bracing for the new, the next big issue of the hundreds he was attending to already.

Simon panted a laugh. "I asked Josh to do the opening. I figured you'd watch 21 21 again. It was, positively speaking, the most likely way to catch you."

Markus eyes wandered over the ceiling. "Sooo... You need my help with what exactly?"

It's not that he wouldn't be glad to hear his friend. But he already smelled a rat.

"Nothing."

Noth- Like really nothing?

"Nothing?"

"I promise."

"How...- how are North and Josh?" Markus felt his way forward. He couldn't remember the last time having a normal chat.

"Ohh," Simon said softly, "you sound like you're in dying need of a break."

Markus had to swallow a laugh. If he only knew. He meandered through the huge apartmemt. He wouldn't say a thing. 

Finding the words was hard. Like all his voice was consumed. 

"Markus, how are you?" Simon picked up the talk again. "How is Belgrad?"

Seemingly, he was walking around in the city. There were cars and mumbling in the back.

"Oslo," he corrected, "Belgrad is next week."

Inhaling flatly, he sat onto the desk. Shoulders low. He glanced at the gift basket next to him. 

Fruits. Specialties of Norway. Washing things. All completly useless to him. And the gift card had a little smiley. 

Oh how much he hated it.

"It's okay. I guess."

Simon hissed. "Oh... Really that bad? Why?"

Averting his eyes from the embarrasment of a gift, he jumped off the table.

"Oh you know...," he said, strolling over to the window, "Stiff monologues about the people. The country and the future. It feels like every word is placed to drag us back to where we came from."

Simon snorted. "Sounds like douchebags to me. At least the populace is on your side. The numbers grows."

His surrounding became quieter.

"Hope Belgrad gets better. Is the view nice? Bet you got a nice hotel."

Markus glanced down into the black darkness to his feet, then back into the fully equipped, huge room.

He leaned his head against the glass. "It feels empty."

A uncomfortable silence came up.

"I wish I could help you..," Simon tried, "But like you said, it's better if we focus on holding up our status in Detroit-"

He cut himself off panting a laugh. "Did you like it? The building. I know, Jericho's not perfect and there are a lot of thing we-"

"It is. It-"

Markus was about to say something, as pricked up his ears.

_"_ _Welcome home, Simon."_

 

...

 

"Markus? You still there?"

He stared into the blank. Just for a second something moved inside of him. He was gone for a month now. He hadn't known it, but he just realized how much he missed home.

"Markus. Markus?"

"Are you- Are you-," he feebled. 

"You said I should keep an eye on him." He couldn't hide the bit of joy he had by hearing Markus reaction.

Markus pushed himself away from the glass, stalking into the middle of the room.

"Can I-"

"No, sorry, I'm afraid he's asleep right now." Markus heard how he took off his jacket. "But I can give him a message, if you want."

Suddenly 61 possible things popped up in his mind, all thing he could tell him. Like that he missed him for example. Or that he wished he could have stayed at home. How lonely it was. How god damn lonely.

"Tell him I said 'hi', could you do that?"

"...Yes."

Again, Markus' phone rung. That's it. Time's up. He swiped it onto the waiting line.

"Hey, Simon. Thanks for taking care of Carl, but...," he swallowed his words. He really didn't want to pick up that call. He really didn't want to hang up.

But that was no question of want.

"Yeah, I know. I was already surprised that we had so much time," he joked dryly, "Just don't worry. I'll find a way to call again." 

If he hangs up now, it will take a week. Maybe longer. Their next call would take a week. He didn't want to wait that long.

"Simon, I'm really sorry..."

"Nah. I'm sorry that you have to go through this all alone. But I promise that when you come back, everything will be fine."

"Yeah," Markus stared at the red button, "You're right..."

His finger wouldn't move.

"So, Well... I'm gonna hang up now... Good night, Markus."

And before he could say bye, he hang off. Maybe it was better that way.

In the end it was just a secretary that wanted to remind him of the next meeting. Not that he needed it. He wouldn't forget.

Useless.

But just like the breakfast, the water bottles and the gift basket, it was just one more thing that was for humans and not for androids. 

Nobody here was ready to align. A broad hint.

He stared at the missed calls. 40. Last week it's been even more. He pondered if he should call back. He always did.

In the end he didn't.

He slumped down on his bed. Tomorrow. Only a couple of hours. The city would light up. The people awake. Only a couple of hours. Tomorrow. Only a couple of hours.

And the rain splattered, hit, dashed against the window. Only the thin glass would keep it outside.

 

 

And glass was fragile. Oh God, too fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD NIGHT! 
> 
> HATSCHI!


	27. Lively

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter for today!

 

February the 4th,

9:30 pm

 

“Should we make zoodles?” you mumbled from the corner, mindlessly swiping over your phone. “With bell pepper or pesto?”

For the last minutes, you've been searching through a cooking website, hoping to find a suitable receipt. He cleaned the kitchen, just accepting all your suggestions. 

“Just choose whatever you like best,” he said, pushing the start button to the loaded dishwasher.

It's not like he had an opinion about food anyway. You will know what to do.

A really old song, that was older than Hank, filled the prominent silence. A bit of music would be nice, that's what you said.

And it was. It was nice.

Nevertheless, this kind of music never crossed Connor's way before. His music taste was mostly formed by Hank's CD-collection.

British rock from the '60s wasn't something he was used to.

But the way your head bobbed to the rhythm and your lips moved to the refrain... It gave him some reason to like it.

Your fingertips thrummed on the window sill.

 

Hey Jude

by The Beatles

1960-1970

 

It was catchy, indeed. Pretty... catchy.

Whatever it was that you did there, it was amusing. And apparently, you had a good time softly swaying around your body.

Minimalistic movements of the neck from the right to the left.

Right, left, right. Left, right, left...

He copied you, but his shoulders unwillingly dragged along and it just felt awkward.

Eyes on you, he tried to find the clue. He did the same, but it wasn't as satisfying as he hoped to be. He was just shoving his ears from the one corner to the next. He kept trying. What was so great about that?

Maybe it was moving the lips? Your lips moved to the lyrics.

Good that your mind was glued to your phone right now.

With time it was getting better. At least it felt more natural. It became a swinging. His lips adjusted to the lyrics. He had it. He was feeling it. Just a little. Kind of. But it was nice, actually quite cool.

His chin swayed and the text whispered from his lips, nodding to the beat.

He slowly closed his eyes.

Just because. He felt like doing it.

What pleasant effect it had. As if someone phased down the mental acrobatics on his hard drive. Like lowering his cognitive process to a comfortable level.

His head felt lighter.

Na Nana nanananaa Nananaa Hey Jude

Na Nana nanananaa Nananaa Hey Jude

 

He didn't even know it was heavy before.

 

Na Nana nanan-

 

He abruptly paused and his eyes went wide open. Head jolting to the side.

With a hearty smirk on your lips, your eyes darted back on your phone.

Of course, you saw that.

Connor bit his lower lip and faced away. 

“It's a good song," you said with a cheeky voice, shoving the phone into your pocket. 

Blood was rushing up his capillaries. Now he was blushing again.

It was quiet for a moment.

Connor was silently hovering around the kitchen, gathering trash and wiping the surfaces. Collecting one old tinfoil-wrapped fast food dish after the other, he became snappy.

Now Hank got what he wanted. Running off to get a shower and leaving him to clean up. He's so getting him back.

He could have at least offered you some help. Since Connor didn't even ever touch a knife, let alone cooked a meal. He won't be much of a help. The least he could do was getting rid of the dirt. But Hank'll be the one to walk Sumo later on.

You clapped your hands. “I got it!”

Connor dropped the trash bag before Hank's room, turning around with an asking look.

Minding his confusion a small smirk appeared on your face. “When I was younger,” you gestured with your hands, “my aunt was the best when it came to fresh, lemony chicken.”

You walked past the table and scrambled through the refrigerator. “And you got..., chicken, lemons … and I bet you've got some rice left.” Your head appears behind the fridge door. “And that's basically all we need. Some veggies for the rice, maybe.”

As you gathered all you needed on the kitchen counter, Connor searched after a left package. A fast-made pack of rice was something Hank would totally buy.

And et voila! He had it.

While you were already attacking the spice shelf, he sat at the table. You would collect all necessary and place it on the platform.

“And how are we pulling it off?” Connor wondered, staring down at all the things he'll never taste.

“I'll marinade this boy!” You lifted the 8 ounces of poultry. “And I suggest you do the veggies.”

Gazing at the pile of different kinds of green, he got sweaty hands. Figuratively.

“...okay.”

He washed the vegetables that needed to be washed and connected to the WiFi, he cheated his way through 80% of the task. Clumsily shoving the knife, and chopping his way through the onions, he was less than confident. He must've looked that stupid. Lucky him, that most of the time your back was turned at him.

“Okayy!”

The sudden sound made Connor flinch, that close and he would've cut himself.

You clean your hands on a towel. “ Tweety's in the oven." You turned around, "How is it going at-” and just froze.

That hard look on your face told everything. Together you looked at the battlefield of onions, carrots, and broccoli.

“Oh, honey...,” you finally said, tousling through your hair.

Putting down the knife, Connor pressed his lips together. “I'm sorry.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “Nah, don't worry.“ You sat down and parted the waste from the required, cut pieces.

“It's just something that needs a bit of practice. Don't stress it, I'll help you,” you said, picking up another knife.

With your assist, the dish was prepared in no time. Maybe he should've asked for help sooner.

So, one oldie song after the next, he learned to cope with a kitchen knife.

On... amateur level.

...

"No," Connor chuckled, picking up 2 plates from the shelf, "You cannot tell me that didn't get you killed."

"But if I tell you! By the seat of my pants, I took that extinguisher and kicked it into that bastards nose. And then I threw it at the next guy, he shot a hole into it and it just goes BOOM!"

Sitting on the counter, you stuffed a stripe of bell pepper into your mouth.

Plates set, he shook his head with a smile. "And what happened then," he glanced over his shoulder, "didn't you say it were 4 of them?"

You crossed your legs, snacking another piece of veggie from the bowl. "Ow, yeah," you spoke with a full mouth, "Gavun pounded one and thee othor one ran off." You shrugged, munching your pepper.

"So you... got out without complications, didn't you?" He fished out the silvery from the drawer.

You hummed a confident yes.

"And," he closed the drawer, "how did this happen?" His eyes stopped at your cut knees. One brow raised, his look jumped up to you.

You nibbled on your lower lip and your face hurried to the side.

It wasn't from a fight. So far he knew. But if it wasn't from the fight, what did it came from?

Inclining his head, he watched you. How you held your hand before your lips, and how the rise in temperature was measurable by the color of your cheeks.

"I fell."

What?

It was barely audible from behind your hand.

"I fell, okay?"

How could that happen? Connor's forehead crinkled. "You collapsed?"

If that's the case, you, maybe, hit your head or had a concussion. You should see a doctor immediately! And even if you didn't, you shouldn't be here working, but be resting in your bed!

"No." You lowered your hand and squinted your eyes. "My shoelaces were open... And I stumbled down the stairs."

"Oh."

He understood the idea. It was embarrassing. Like... Really. And especially after the great win over an invincible opponent.

But...

There was laughter down in his belly that crept up to his lips. Malicious joy was making it's way up. Miss Amelia Mary impossible Detective Rockland! Defeated by stairs and open shoes!

Adorable.

"Nooo." A warning gaze was shot at Connor as you acknowledged his struggle.

Feeling the corner of his mouth twitching up, he was trying his best to keep up a hard face.

Seeing how he was making fun of you, you formed your lips into a small, offended circle.

"Stop it," you gasped, balling your fist and bumping it against his shoulder.

With a wide smile plastered on his face, he stumbled back and let himself drop on a chair. He could see how exhilaration sparked through behind your acted pout.

"You must be kidding," he snickered, turning half to set the table.

And he did with flawless precision. Just because he wouldn't clean up behind Hank didn't mean he wasn't appreciating a bit of order.

The grin on your face faded and a deep sigh came from the very top of your lungs. With a clonk, your head hit against the shelf.

"I fell directly to the backup troops' feet." Shoulders hanging, you gestured to the floor. "Like a total moron..."

The squeaky ringing of the alarm went off, making you set aside your dilemma.

Cutting off the ring tone, you hopped from the counter. "My poor grace," you whispered as you put on the oven gloves. "My poor dignity."

Opening the oven, a delicious smell spread in the room. It was rosemary and lemons. Their scent steamed up in the air. To that the rice with the veggies. It looked great. The chicken stripes on the bed of rice were golden and shiny.

The time was just a guess, but it seemed like it was alright like this.

Getting it out, you checked if it was really done. And it was just fine. With a fork you stirred through the hot rice, making little clouds poof up.

Connor was peeking over your shoulder. He was a bit sad, that he couldn't have that delightful, satisfied smile on his face. You looked happy, soaking in the aroma.

When he tried to smell it, he was only getting information about the chemical composition.

More informative. Less satisfying.

You closed your eyes again. Softly inhaling the warm steam that must have smelled delicious.

There was something peaceful within it. Within you. Just as the music played before.

You appeared happy.

And there was it again. That fluffiness. Like his stomach turned around. As if you'd jerk it like a steering wheel. A punch in the guts.

It was making him nervous.

"Connor, do you have any stuff like a big spoon or a scoop? To dip."

Dragged away from his thoughts, he raised his head. "Huh? Eh... Yeah. Sure. I'll get it."

Setting aside all the things that were just on his mind, he got on his feet and brought you what you demanded and placed it on the set table.

Closing the oven, you took the alienated lasagna tray and twaddled after Connor, carefully putting it down in the middle.

But not careful enough to spare one of the napkins. With your elbow, you touched it and wrecked the perfect mirrored image. The napkin did have a 90° angle.

Now it was only 76,9°.

He felt silly worrying about it. Yet, before he even ended that idea, his hand just slipped.

He corrected it by default.

"Did I destroyed the perfection?" your voice was a bit snappy.

Connor glanced up. You pulled the gloves from your hand and threw them onto the counter behind you.

"Eh. It's nothing."

"Oh its nothing?" you imitated nonchalant.

Woosh.

Suffering a little ache in his heart, the napkin was 57°. 

How cruel. Why would you do that?  

Fixing a stare at you, he recognized how your eyes were smiling widely. And with this glimmer in your expression, he understood what you were aming for.

You ... You were teasing him.

In the very same moment, your hand rushed down and moved the next object from it's perfect place.

Okay, he could do that. Let's play.

The whole toing and froing went on for some while. It was delightful to mess around with you like this. So actually it was fun nevertheless.

One object after the other you jumped at the table and messed with literally everything while Connor did his best to catch you.

At one time the napkin was forgotten and it was simply goofing around. Holding your waist, he was playfully fighting with you to keep you away from his table.

"Let me go, you OCD!" you laughed wriggling to free yourself from his arm. "I'll heal you from the system!"

With one hand around your waist, he reached for your destructive little fingers and swayed you around.

"Gotcha," he rejoiced, showing up your two small hands in his, gleefully waving.

You snickered into his triumphant little ass smile. Fruitlessly wiggling yourself out again, you tipped on your toes so you were almost eye to eye and stuck out your tongue.

"You do know..., that if you want some space, you can tell me to fuck off," the gruff voice of the Lieutenant popped up.

In one movement you and Connor darted your heads towards the bathroom door, where Hank was standing, dressed in a bathing gown and a towel wrapped around his head.

Good that his attire took most of his authority because his eyes were ready to murder all of you. Connor was more surprised than frightened, but you were still easily awed by the Lieutenant.

"If you want me gone to smooch around, just say a damn word and don't wait 'til I'm in the shower," he scoffed, pulling closer the fluffy blue belt around him. "You're old enough." With that, he turned around to toddle into his room.

Well not into his room. He stopped in front of it, after all the big black trash bag, Connor placed there, was blocking his way. His old-man-head moved around with an acerbic expression.

Still goofy, Connor saw that look of him and sincerely indicated with his eyes to you.

Noticing that he was trying to blame you for his deeds, you hit your knee against his leg.

With an, of course, played ouch, he started panting a peal of laughter, followed by your giggled snort.

The door fell shut.

And you looked at each other. The mood changed and the fun was suddenly gone. At least for the moment.

Back to sanity, Connor's head became clearer. And he realized how your face was so close to his.

Not that it was bothering him. No, he liked your face. It wasn't a bad face. A great face. Eh, a nice face. Not a big face. Great like good. No, not good. Your face was pretty. Pretty, yes.

Why was he sweating about that?

Aaand...

Why was he still holding your hand?

He let go. And took a step back. Maybe he overdid it just now. Personal boundaries and such. Although it was apparently not bothering you.

An appropriate half-meter away from Connor, you crinkled your nose. Scratching your chin, you hummed, "I nearly ignored the fact that Hank would eat with us," you look at Connor, "We forgot to set the table for him, too."

No, we didn't.

"Oh, did we?" Connor crossed his arms. How should he explain that he knew from the start he wouldn't eat...

"Yeah," you said, standing up, "I'll get another plate." Hurrying to the shelf where the dishes were, Connor jumped up and blocked your way.

"No you don't need to," he babbled.

Squinting your eyes, you lifted a brow. "What?"

Oh fuck. Should he tell you now? Like now, now.

That's not what he was hoping it to be like.

He didn't even set up his mind about all that. Maybe he wouldn't want to tell you. You just held his hands without batting an eye, and you had so much fun. It's to doubt that you'll keep that up if you'd know.

Urgh. And now you were staring at him. Quick, say something!

"It's complicated."

The screwed up face of yours waited for a deeper explanation. "I'm listening. What's the problem?"

"Ah. I- I... Only eat steamed vegetables and never after 18 o'clock. It's a health thing,” he shrugged with a stressed half-smile.

You crossed your arms, intensely listening to Connor's, sense-free, made up explanation, that was completely copied from one of the movies he had watched with Hank.

"Eh... And so I don't- I won't eat with you. I forgot to say that, I'm sorry."

If he could, sweat would be running down his face. He bit his tongue, nervously awaiting your reaction. Like you'd ever fall for that rubbish.

"Okay."

Wha-?

Turning on your heels, you walked into the living room, flopping onto the couch. Sumo laid right next to it and came over for a little snuggle. As long as he wasn't barking at you, he was a real cutie.

While you ruffled through the dog's fur, Connor still stood in the kitchen, not quite understanding what just happened.

Did you believe him?

Were you okay with that?

Were you angry at him?

That lack of emotion in your response was confusing him, yet you'd say if something would be wrong, right?

"Can I come out? Or are there naked teenagers on my couch?!" It came from another room.

Connor frowned. “Why should there be unclothed minors on our sofa?”

With curled lips, you rolled your eyes. "All-clear, Lieutenant!"

Hank sneaking out of his room, freshly dressed, he and you were gathering at the table. Each of you grabbing some of the lemon-rice-chicken and you began to eat. Connor was sitting by your side and kept Sumo busy, so he wouldn't beg for food.

The shampoo he used still lingered on Hank. One of those old spice shower gels, but not that bad. Connor apparently used the same since he smelled very similar. He wore it better, though.

Not that you'd smell on Connor. No, no you didn't. That would be weird, right? Even though he smells good, it was an objectively good scent. Not that you'd think about his scent all the time. No. You'd never.

Well, just occasionally.

It was a bit bumpy to start a topic to chat with the Lieutenant. At first, it was rather still.

Though that wasn't surprising for Connor if one keeps in mind how your and his conversations usually went off. Either he was grumpy over something or made jokes about you and Connor dating. Maybe he should consider to clear that up with Hank for once.

"So when you're from Canada-," Hank started while cutting the chicken,"-do you speak French?"

Taking a sip of water, you nodded. "It's a little cliche to ask, Lieutenant, but... yes."

He shoveled some rice on his fork, lifting his chin. "Than say something in French."

Rolling your eyes, you thought of something to say. “Eh- How about: Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir."

He was silent for a second. French is spoken quite fast and mashed syllables together. It probably sounded like talking backwards to him.

"Uhuu. And-," he swallowed, "-what does that mean?"

"It is better to prevent than to heal,” you translated poking around in your food, "It should refer to your health. It says that precaution is more desirable than risk a problem. A bit like 'better safe than sorry', just the French way. "

Somehow that sentence grabbed Connor's attention. Starring onto the ground it echoed through his mind.

'It is better to prevent than to heal.'

"Ever been to France?" Hank's fork indicated at his plate like he was pointing at a map. Still chewing he groaned, "That's really good stuff here, kiddo."

You told them about how, though, you've never been there yourself, your granny was spending a half year there in college time and later came back to Toulouse with her first husband.

You only saw pictures.

Your family had some kind of distant grand-aunt, or something, in Bordeaux. But in Quebec French is so common, that you're used to talking and hearing it.

Inspired by that, Hank told about his roommate who had a trip through Europe and ended up marrying his best friend Alexander in Lisbon.

He showed you the postcard he got from the wedding. A really cute couple.

From time to time Sumo would drag his paws around the table to collect some snuggle from everyone. Such a fluffy boy.

While both of you had the time of your life chatting about the weather and whatnots Connor was becoming the third wheel. He liked it better as you both were alone. No offense.

He did his best to participate, to step in. It wasn't working. Every attempt to throw in a new aspect or anecdote failed.

...

"I'm just saying that after going to prom with green hair, I have huge trust issues with hairdressers," crossing his arms, Hank perked his lips, "My suit was red... I looked like a tomato."

He was feeling like before when Jenny came along. It couldn't be that hard to have a normal conversation. Especially after getting high hopes since you and Hank were the two people he was most casual with.

...

"And I held the chips bag in my hand and we stared at the hole in the plastic in such a horror! We were absolutely sure we'd die! Then we ran down the stairs and knocked off one after the other. That was so-"

"And you- like-," the Lieutenant swirled his hand, "- you just slipped, or what?"

“Y-yeah...” Your outgoing smile faded, scratching the inside of your wrist. "If I could just say that this was the first time that something like this happens..," you said with a low voice.

It was really nagging you, huh?

"Don't worry," Connor loosened his tie, "I'm sure fighting a whole gangster squad with a fire extinguisher fills up you dignity account pretty much."

If you just knew how many bullets Connor already took, you would probably fret less. Oh man, he should really reconsider his life-choices at some points...

You faced down and laughed. Propping your chin on your hand, you glanced up behind your lashes and said softly spoken, “Thank you, Connor.“

Someone dragged on the stirring wheel again. A kidney punch. He blinked. “My pleasure.”

You had such pretty eyes.

“Why don't you tell me what you and the Lieutenant did while I was refilling my dignity account?” you suggested with a gentle voice, tilting your head.

He removed his tie and undid his upper button. “Well...I and Hank, we were...”

...

It was taking a while but lastly, Connor was talking to you without any restrains. More and more he was starting his own topics and actually jumped in.

Rolling off his tie that was spread over the table, he squinted his eyes. "So the rat is a cook?"

“Yeah,” Hank nodded, “His dad said he can't do that because he was a rat,” he explained, opening his hands.

“Living the rat life,” you added, rolling off the other side of Connor's tie.

Agreeing, Hank gestured at you. “Living the rat life, and Remy said, fuck you Dad, I'll be a cook.”

“He didn't actually say that. It's a kid's movie.”

Rolling up to the half, he let go of the fabric and leaned back. That animated movies were more complicated than he thought. He crossed his arms and his lips build a thin line. “Isn't that... highly unhygienic?”

“Actually, that was part of the movie too,” you said and picked up the, on both sides rolled up, tie. It looked like a cartridge tape. “He was always shown washing his hands and walking on his back legs. He was careful with germs.”

A half frown appeared on Hank's face. “Didn't beware him from getting Gusteau's closed...”

“Yeah...”

Both of you bit into a stripe of pepper, soberly chewing it.

...

“Well the fact that your Basil is dying is caused by the fact that peppermint is a weed, “Connor explained, drawing circles with his finger, “The mint is sucking out all nutrients from the potting compost. You need to keep them separate in order to keep the basil alive.”

“Ahh, I see...,” you breathed, making notes on your phone, “Thanks.”

Well, Google is your friend, Connor thought.

Hank rubbed Sumo behind his ears. “What do you think, Sumo, should we pick up the garden work when spring comes? What do you say, boy? Huh?” Sumo barked. “Good boy, yeah, good boy.”

"I never knew you're into garden work, Lieutenant."

"I never knew you were into work, Hank."

“Shut up, Connor.”

...

After everyone was full, the Lieutenant was obligated to do the dishes. Sumo snuggled up on the floor and in a food coma, you were catnapping on the sofa with a big pillow in your arms.

"Hey," Hank whispered, "is she asleep?" His chin indicated to the sofa.

Looking up from his book, Connor turned around to check on you. A tiny snoring mumbled from the living room.

"I guess."

Not surprising, honestly, you really ate quite much for your volume. At some level, he wondered, where you store all those calories.

Remembering how much you ate at the Diner that night it was interesting how you kept up that body-mass-index of yours.

"Maybe we should bring her home." Hank sorted in the dried plates with as little noise as possible. "And with 'we' I mean 'you."

Connor sighed, "I know," and shut his book. Of course, Hank wouldn't come along.

Not that it was really bothering him. He raised to his feet, stepping over Sumo and walked to the couch, kneeling down.

"Amelia?" he said low, "Come, I'll bring you home."

Moaning, you shuffled your face into the pillow and waved him away. "Only 5 more minutes, Joseph."

"What? Who is Joseph?" Connor chuckled, sitting down on the ground, "Get up, it's already late."

"Maybe you should just get her a blanket, don't think she's good to go," Hank throws in from the kitchen, drying his hands.

He had a point.

After all what happened, you were surely tired. Connor was about to get you something to sleep, as you blindly patted your hand into his direction.

"No, no-," you lethargically muttered, "I'm awake."

Crawling from the sofa, your head was a bit blurry. Connor got up and you stumbled to your feet. A bit feeble, you held onto his shoulder in order to not topple over backward.

He propped you with his arms. "I can see that."

Balled up like that, he wasn't well with bringing you home, it was a long day, after all. Yet, that's probably the main reason you wanted to go.

"It's not that late..," you argued, pulling back your hand and twaddled towards your jacket, "No need to sleepover."

There was a weird feeling in your mouth from the nap. Somehow everything felt surrealistic.

"If you say so..," Hank leaned on the counter, not entirely convinced by what you said. "Well then, thanks for the meal, kid," he waved, "See ya tomorrow."

A gentle and a bit exhausted goodbye rushed over your lips. "Thanks for having me, Lieutenant, I appreciate the invitation." You dragged your feet towards the exit, as Connor opened the door for you.

The sudden chill from outside blew into the room.

Connor knew that you wouldn't walk. Though you might prefer it, you were a bit too drowsy to get done a 3-hour walk.

Keys in his hand, he swung his coat around his shoulders.

"Let's go."

Standing in the door frame, your lashes fluttered at him.

The 'thank you' you were planning to say, stuck on your tongue. Like someone took a safety pin and tacked it tight.

It was really nice of him to bring you home. That was all you wanted to say.

Maybe it was just your sleepy ass. Lastly, you managed to tentatively move.

A last wave back to the Lieutenant and Sumo before Connor closed the door and you walked to the car.

It was freezing outside. Holding your arms close around your body, you hopped to the car, making tiny jumps to keep yourself warm.

Connor was less impressed by the weather. It was plainly cold. No icy wind, no snowstorm. It was just a winter night.

Nevertheless, he hurried to open the car, for you, so you don't quick-freeze right on the spot.

"I thought you were Canadian," Connor teased, unlocking the door, "how can this temperature possibly be too cold for you?"

As soon as the door clicked, you ripped it open and dropped onto the seat, rubbing your hands. "The human body is colored by multiple external and internal factors, that exceed the sheer location of your birth, you racialistic weasle."

Wha-?

The car was almost colder than outside. God damn winter.

"And you know what," you buckled on, "maybe my other, not Canadian, half is African or from Panama. You can't know that."

Oh really? Connor thought as he put on the heating. It would require less than a fleeting glimpse and he would know things even you never knew.

But that's not gonna happen. He said he won't check you, so he won't.

Musing about your possible ancestries, you commenced the drive home. The heating did excellent work and the ice cube on wheels became homey and snuggly. It didn't take long until you doze off.

Again.

"We forgot the folder check," it mumbled from the co-driver seat.

Connor's eyes jumped to you, before quickly going back to the street. "Huh?"

"I wanted to tell you what I found funny about that. We forgot."

It dawned upon him. The folders you originally wanted to go through with him, right. About the cases. A bit late now.

"Yeah. Don't worry," Connor mollified you, "If you give me the folder-”

"At least I know how to save my mint." You shifted in the seat, facing Connor. Your eyes were closed. "My mom would be proud."

He swallowed the words he was about to say and closed his eyes shortly. Were you sleep talking? An amused simper arising on his face, he kept driving.

 

"I want a chicken soup."

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting snuggly wuggly here!
> 
> Amelia slowly fits into that little patched up family and Connor probably will now want to see Ratatouille. He was lucky getting away with his lack of honesty again, but how long will that work out? Hank and Amelia are getting a long just fine and she even gets used to the big woofer, Sumo. 
> 
> I hope you had a nice and warm summer- start. In my last chapter I mentioned that it was 19° and super warm. Well... Last week was constantly around 30° 
> 
> Good all my friends have a pool >:3 hehe.
> 
> Are you okay, where ever you are? Or is it getting too hot for the pepperoni?
> 
> I try to update the next couple of chapters in a bunch. So come back next week and see what Santa brought you  
> See ya!


	28. I heard people do that

 

February 5th, 2039  
1:29 am

As soon as the key clicked into the lock, Sumo erected his sleepy head. Drowsy he hefted to his paws and toddled to the door.

  
"What took you so long?" Hank asked from in front of the TV, one arm leaning over the headrest. He already changed into his PJ's.

  
Closing the door behind him, Connor took off his coat. "Ah, nothing special.-"

  
Sumo sniffled on his hand and waited for a greeting. "Hey boy.” He bowed down to stroke his little friend and lead him to his bowl.

“-I brought her up to her apartment, that's all.”

He purred in a handful of dog food and Sumo relished it wriggling his tail.Putting down the big bag, his head jolted up, darting a look at Hank.

“Can you imagine how hard it is to find the key while you carry a sleeping, grown woman?" he jumped onto the counter again, swinging his feet, "I nearly dropped her twice!”

  
Confusion plastered over Hank's face.

 

“Well...,” he muted the TV, “... Change sleeping girl to drunk wife, then yes," he scoffed, shaking his head to himself, “Oh yes I do.”

“Really Hank...," a deep sigh came from his lung, "what's just up with you humans...Is that rotten fruit juice really worth it?”

He recognized the adoration Hank dedicated to consumption when they met. And after the short time he was actively working with, against or for different kinds of humans, he could say that all of them, sooner or later consumed that drug.

Apparently, it still enjoyed a high social ranking ignoring the fact that it was very dangerous and unhealthy to the body.  
Mindlessly his fingers wiped over the surface. He was amazed by how clean it was.

Hank sunk back into the cushions staring into nothing. "I think...," he mumbled, "I think there is a point in life where they want to forget. Is it life, the future or just a really fucked up day..."

He sat up and strted to gesture.

"You know Humans have this idea. It's chambered up in their mind that every problem will disappear. Just as soon as they hit the bottom of that one bottle," he said.

"And if they don't find it? What do they do then?" Connor tilted his head.

"Try the next."

He nodded understandingly. Neither he was entitled to judge humans and their suffering, nor he could relate to it. Just could accept it.

"Was your wife searching for her problem's solution in a bottle of gin?" he asked, walking over.

Spinning the remote in his hands he laughed, "No... She was just quirky. She liked to yell cheers and cherished the bright company."

A smile formed on his lips. But before it even had the chance to appear, it was gone already. It was that swift, that Connor nearly didn't notice. Then Hank's expression darkened and his gaze lowered.

"She just never knew when it was enough..."

His voice sounded so worn out.

For a moment, all noise in the room was dead.

The story about his wife has been a secret for the longest time. He knew. Nevertheless, he barely talked about her. But he always showed that swift spark of glee when he did. Followed to be covered by sorrow dressed in dark blue.

"Well!" Hank slapped his knee getting up slowly. "Stop talking about booze. I'm getting thirsty."

"Try some water. I heard people drink that sometimes," Connor said dryly, sitting on the armrest.

  
Hank pulled his shirt right, punched Connor's shoulder and walked to the kitchen.

"I hate you."

Darting an offended frown at him, he gestured with his hands. "Am I supposed to say ouch?"

He only responded with grumpy noises when he ripped open the cupboard. It was fun to annoy him like that.

But to be honest, he felt quite the pressure coming from Hank's hit. If he wouldn't be that resilient, he would receive damage.

Connor swung his legs on the couch and laid his head on the armrest like in a therapy chair.

"Hank?"

Purring water into a small glass, he hummed a reaction.

"Do you think Amelia drinks?"

Hank turned around the drink in his hand. With a dry laugh, he scoffed and shook his head. "Hell, if I had that backstory, I'd definitely."

That statement made him nervous. A regular person saying that would be fine. You did have a rough past and with that accident and her perception issue, you're not to envy.

But from all people Hank saying that worried him.

Connor wouldn't want you to drown your sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. Especially not after he saw what could happen to humans that slip into it too deeply.

Thinking about it like that, somewhere in this house, there still should be that gun with one bullet. That one last bullet in the barrel.

"Would it bother you?" Hank asked, crossing his arms. "If she drank I mean."

Lying on the couch Connor's finger traced along the seam of the backrest. He didn't really know why he did that.

"I don't know. Maybe."

He saw what alcohol can do to people. Fights on the open street, addiction, mania and often cause of so much pain and suffering. Alcohol was destroying nerves and was aggressive towards your brain and your body.

How often he had seen drunkards lurching down the streets at night. Yelling, fighting and being irresponsible.

You feeling the need to drown your sorrows in ethanol... He didn't want that.

"I know that she was in rehab for some time."

Connor's finger stopped running over the fabric. Blinking, he looked up.

"Yeah, I think it was when she was a teen." Hank took a sip and thrummed his fingers on the counter. "When she was new at the Department, she was in the limelight and had the whole focus of gossipers."

Connor sat up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch. "Really?" he said, "she surely had a rough start then."

Just to imagine all the vulturous eyes staring at you, whispering things about you behind your back.

"I wish I could say I wasn't part of them," Hank pondered, walking back to the kitchen sink, "But, even though, I didn't give a shit about gossip, I was very distant. I mean, I literally sat across her but she was freaking me out too much. Guess it was a real pain in the ass to work here."

"And what did change that?" Connor propped his chin on his hand, listening attentively.

Hank narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

For a moment they were staring at each other in a deadpan expression. Connor reflected Hank's mixed frown. It was getting real silent.

Did he get something wrong?

Getting an idea, he felt the need to explain himself. His eyes jumped down, fixing at the ground.

“When I was working with her-, I mean-," he rushed his hand through his hair, "-the last days... I can't think of any situation where anyone- and really no one- was harassing her...”

"Then you were lucky, I guess," Hank said, "When you've been cooing around in the infirmary I heard some twats blathering over her again." Biliously throwing his hands in the air, he nearly spilled the water. "And such dogs call themselves guardians of law!"

He bit his cheek, cutting himself off. He shouldn't scream around in the middle of the night. The anger that crept up his throat was that hard that he downed the whole glass to wash it down.

Connor's gaze was fixed tight on the ground. "What did they say?" his voice was very controlled.

Hank stopped the glass resting on his lip. Considering his words. From behind his eyebrows, he glanced up to Connor who was pressing his hands together, eyes not moving an inch.

Lastly, he set down the glass averting his eyes.

“They said if she just,-"

He hesitated.

"-if she just would've crushed her head in that accident instead of her shoulder the department would be..."

"...way more peaceful.”

The pressure on his hands tightened, his eyelids fell shut and...

And he wouldn't know what to say.

Connor thought about how clueless he was. He hasn't had an idea. If there should be people that say such things,... that made him- He didn't know what it was. Something suffocated him. Like a cork in his throat.

Should he do something against it? Could he? What if you get in trouble even more? Out of nowhere, he was so-

So much.

But chiefly shocked. He was acquainted with unpleasant colleagues himself.

The explanation he made up for that situation was that those people were not able to accept him because he was different.

Probably they had a very similar problem with you.

Yet he couldn't leave it alone. That was unacceptable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor activated protective mode.
> 
> If you noticed, I hinted to Hank's ex-wife and because we know just very little of her, I'd like to hear your theories about what actually happened there or if you already started some investigations concerning that.
> 
> Next chapter will arrive within the next day ;)


	29. Freakshow

February 5th, 2039  
5:38 pm

Uttering a metallic screech, the train came to a halt. Wriggling through the mass of people, coming your way, you dug your head into a small booklet. Sliding to the left and to the right, you dodged everyone without even paying attention.

Being burdened with a high perception can be handy at times.  
   
“Video Game tycoon (founded 1986)”, you muttered into your scarf, tipping the pencil against your lip. “7 Letters.”  
    
In awful, wobbly handwriting you scribbled it down.  
   
“U.B.I.S.O.F.T,” you mouthed each letter like a toddler.  
   
When #16 was UBISOFT, #3 should be 'QUARANTINE'. Again your hand rubbed over the paper leaving an unidentifiable word salad.  
    
But show me one person who's a calligraphist while walking down station stairs.  
   
The crowd around you loosened. The majority of passengers were commuters and just needed to change trains. Being on the open street it became empty.  
   
It's been a long time since you've been walking this place. Over there was once an ice cream shop. Between the traffic light and the oak. And in winter they sold flowers and hot chocolate. Probably they're broke now. You continued wandering.  
   
You were still not quite sure how Connor managed to bring you up. When you woke up today, not a hunch of how you ended in your bed, it had something of a hangover.  
   
Not long until you figured out that he brought you into your apartment, using your key.  
   
You had to admit that it was like a breakfast puzzle for you to figure out how you landed there. After all, you could only recall how you got into the car with him. Everything after this is a blur.  
   
Thanks to the little traces he left, it was like a join-in-episode of Blues Clues.  
   
For example, he left a bit of soil on your kitchen tiles. In your pyjamas, you followed the trace and found out that he repotted your mint. You wanted to call him and tell him thank you but assessed that you don't even have his phone number.   
   
Well, anyway you owe him a hug for that. After all, he could have just woke you up.

You hadn't a long way to go. Barely 10 minutes with the train and 5 minutes by foot. The crime scene was almost around the corner.  
   
Turning into a plain housing complex, you moved up a gear. You could see the patrol car.  
   
You folded your booklet and put it into your jacket. You should really wash it again. Surely there's blood on it.  
   
Again a statement you made too often.  
   
Down the leaves and trash-sprinkled gray road, you could finally spot it. The house of the victim was wrapped in a faded white veneer and had a little garden that stretched into the back of the bungalow. Before it, a group of passengers peeking and two policemen having a smoke.  
   
You already feared it from the distance but now you were certain...  
   
Phineas Hall.  
   
Woobdy.  
   
Fucking.

Doo.

Shoulders creeping up to your ears, you took as tiny steps as possible. Despondent, you dragged your feet.  
   
You didn't want to.  
   
Your hands hid in your pockets and in the second you made up your mind to leave without a word, he noticed you. And he surely recognized you, after all, you only have that one jacket.  
   
And he had that mischevious glow in his face.  
   
That wasn't hate. No no no. He could never hate you. Okay, maybe a bit. No, Phineas was picking on you just for the heck of it. Pure entertainment.  
   
Pulling down his sunglasses, he darted a look at you. “Is that really you, Rocky?”  
   
“Oh God, please,” you whispered to yourself getting slower, “if you exist... let me die right on the spot.”  
   
With a bound, he approached you and hit you as a greeting hard on your back. You even felt it in your teeth.  
   
Bollocks.  
   
That was kind of his thing. First being all bro and party but then he trips you up so that you rip open your knees.  
   
At least you're way ahead of him today concerning that. The scab on your knees was as thick as a slice of cheese.  
   
Best equation.  
   
“Benjamin,” Phineas said to his colleague and pulled you closer, “that's Detective Rocky.” His finger swirled next to his temple. “She is a super freak.”  
   
Benjamin more coughed out the smoke than laughing and snipped away his cigarette, stomping it under his feet. “Okay, we can go in now,” he announced and headed up a couple of stairs.  
   
Of course, he wouldn't throw it in a trashcan. It will stay on the ground. Not that littering was a crime or anything.  
   
"Awesome,” Phineas squashed your shoulder, pulling you to turn around, “Let's go, Freakshow.”  
   
Ow.

When you tried to free yourself he only pressed harder. He made it look like he was guiding you. So casually friendly. No one would see how painful his grip really was.

Did he know about your shattered shoulder? He was luckily groping the wrong side, but that could be a coincidence. 

Following Ben, you entered a narrow hallway. The cloudy sky allowed little light at this hour and the only light source was the lamp shining from the living room. Someone was talking in there.

“Okay, pal. Then don't forget to soak everything in soap before the laundry. And if all that fails, buy some H2O2 from the drugstore.” You somehow knew that voice.

A profile appeared in the door, facing into the living room. You'd recognize those thick glasses everywhere. It was Mike the forensic. That one from the case you had with Connor some days ago.

The weight lifted from your weary heart. You were already scared to stay alone with those idiots. You recalled him being a nice person. And nice was what you needed right now. 

Mike picked up his bag. Then he walked past you and just vanished through the door. 

Just like that.

Aghast you stared at the exit. Your muscles tensed and a lump blocked your throat. Silently ringing for a catch of breath, you rolled your shoulders.

...

The quiet whimpering from next door brought back your attention. Right. Work.

Peeking at the room, a woman sat on a chair, face hiding behind her cupped hands. The two people to her side did her best to calm her down.

Both middle-aged friends of the woman looked at you policemen. Throwing a quick, sorrowful, grieving frown at you and turned back to reassure the widow.

At least you figured she was the now-widow. Or a ... Sister? At least you knew a man died here and she was the one crying the most. 

Probably he was killed on that sofa behind the kinsman. It was soaked in blood, spreading over the ground as well. The markings told he was found infront the TV.

Maybe you should read up the facts first.

On the counter of the built-in kitchen, the tablet with the information waited for you. Before doing anything you should check on that. Pushing past Phineas and the square-built Benjamin, you reached for it.

Right under your nose, it was snatched away. Biting your lower lip, you turned at him with raised brows.

Is he serious?

Phineas mindlessly wiped through the files himself paying little attention to you. To read better, he pushed up his sunglasses and shot a nonchalant glance at you.

"Oh don't worry, Rocky," he said, flying over the report, "I'm sure you and your freakshow don't need all that redundant garbage facts."

You balled your hand to a fist. What?

"Right, Benny?"

Benjamin said no word.

"See, he's with me."

Wishing to stuff his head into a chipper, you swallowed your anger. It had no use. He would just wave off anything you said. Twisting your words to his liking until you blunder yourself.

Believe me, you learned it the hard way.

Okay, then we do it the other track...

Now that Phineas let go of you, you made a step forth. After all, you couldn't feel less comfortable with that waffle of a human so close to you.

"Please excuse our importunity," Ben suddenly emerged from the group. The victim's relatives listened up. "The securing of evidence is ready so far. If you allow, we would appreciate to ask you a couple of questions." He stood tall and his voice was clear.

The couple, that cared for the young woman stepped to the side, making way for you. No one really felt like talking.

You had to ask the right questions fast. Otherwise, you would only needlessly stress them. Must've been a tough day. The less time it takes, the better.

“My name is Detective Rockland,” you introduced yourself, “could you please depict what happened here today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first day that Amelia works alone without Connor and she meets her best buddy. Ferb.
> 
> I have to say that I wanted it to be much longer today, but I have to admit that I, again, misjudged the effort it takes to write a case. 
> 
> Especially now with the increased difficulty. That Amelia only knows what people tell her. She has no forensic report, no evidence list, no further information Mike and the people before you collected already. Phineas has these.
> 
> Let's see who's first. 
> 
> Additionally, I'd like to inform you that I try really hard to get my chapters done fast, but it's a bit clouded in my head. I need to write assignments
> 
> ... and really need to stop using that as excuse.
> 
> Yes, I should be doing assignments and care for my future, 
> 
> but I barely do. 
> 
> What actually takes most of my free time are my friends and house work. And now that summer is coming it's getting tougher with my schedule and vacations and trips. 
> 
> But let me assure you: I won't stop writing. I don't think that I actually could do that. Either I write it out of my head or I'll die with it jackhammering my frontal lobe. 
> 
> And can I tell you how excited I am to finally write the smoochy and romantic scenes? WIth feelings and hurt and trust and pain! We're going soap opera. I can't even tell how many chapters it should take... not that much, but maybe a spoonful of chapters. 
> 
> See you next chapter :D


	30. Call me Clara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes Nr. 30! 
> 
> It's a pleasure to be your writer and I hope together we will create many more chapters! 
> 
> Enjoy!

February 5th, 2039

6 pm

 

You rambled through the barren living room. It was moderately sized and not ugly by definition. Yet it was uncharitable.

Two chairs at the table, two seats on the couch. The built-in kitchen presented itself in a milky yellow and had not much more to offer than a pot and a pack of paper towels. Only decorations you could find were a lonely plant and beer cans galore.

It wasn't hard to see that they barely had any guests.

With the six of you in here, the capacity of space was completely exploited.

“So you were having a shower while your husband, Mr. Fergus Vela, was watching TV. When you came back there was his motionless body on the ground,” Phineas reconstructed Mrs. Vela's statement.

Mrs. Vela was huddling up on her chair. Wrapped in a blanket, she did her best to hold down her tears. Her bare feet peeked through from underneath.

“And when you saw that shadow, you described as a big and muscular man, running through your garden, you got scared and sheltered at the Thompsons'” He gestured at the neighbors. “Am I getting it right?”

“R-right...,” she sniffed, her voice was feeble, “and the window was broken, too.” Her red eyes glanced at the shards that reached up to her feet.

The shattered french door was nothing one could easily overlook. The glass was lying on the floor and stretched over the patio. In fact, it was quite a hole and with that really chilly in here. You were lucky it wasn't raining.

The blue shining fragments clashed with the vine red stains on the beige carpet. They were framed by white markings that drew over the floor. That's where the body was once.

For the widow's fortune, you supposed, the body already has been removed.

Roaming around, your sight followed the red traces. Phineas and the neighbors were reassuring the widow. She had to fight back a heartbreaking sob. The kind of craving for air when you suffocate on your own sorrow. It echoed in your bones.

With that shaking pierced into your heart, you turned your back at them. You've got work to do.

The sofa was the next to draw your attention. It was the most soiled object in the room. It does not take a genius to understand that he must have been killed on that spot. The entire backrest was red and sticky. Your nose crinkled.

It smelled normal, though.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like you could smell out drugs or ingredients from two miles against the wind. Nevertheless, it appeared to happen that you could recognize when something wasn't right.

This one was fine.

When the murder happened the victim most likely sat on the couch, so much was sure. A glimpse at the coffee table gave away he was having a beer.

Mrs. Vela witnessed a big and muscular man running from the house. So if she was candid, and the guy came over the patio, Mr. Vela must have seen the attacker coming at him.

And when some guy comes at your window and smashes it you don't sit there idly. You would at least stand up, wouldn't you? So what happened?

“I'm sorry that I'm such a crybaby,” she apologized, “I bet I hamper your work...” Her voice was so feminine and soft that it felt like she whispered every word.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Phineas darted a gaze at Benjamin. He wasn't concerned by telling the truth.

But he was right. A clearly unwell relative present at the crime scene investigation WAS hampering your work. Not to mention Phineas being enough of disruption already.

At least he was pulling himself together as long as they were here. That way you could mind your business.

You focused on the stained sofa. He must have had been stabbed right here. You at least assumed he was stabbed. Otherwise, there should be a hole from a shot. And a rougher weapon would have left some marks as well.

A knife or such was more likely.

It was bugging you that he laid there. You wouldn't sit there, waiting for your murderer to come in. Not even sleeping was valid since breaking a window definitely makes some noise.

So what was it? Was he being pressed back? Why did he lay on the ground now? Were they fighting? A fight would have left traces, but there was nothing.

Pinwheeling around, you could see no hints. Nothing out of place. Nothing broken. Nothing torn. Not even footsteps on the shards-

Wait.

Squatting down you scanned the shards on the floor. The majority of them were on the pivot. You would expect smaller crumbles of glass where the attacker stepped on. While getting in.

But nada. No one was walking on it. And when no one was walking over it that should mean-

Your head jolted up.

A bunch of confused faces stared down at you. You, crouching in the puddle of blood, face digging into a pile of glass...

Okay. You got it.

You were being weird again.

Phineas knitted his brows. “What the actual fuck are you doing there?”

“My...” The neighbor lady was getting pale. “This is a place of death. I request a bit more decency, Miss.” She raised her chin up high and placed her hands on Mrs. Vela's shoulders. “Have a bit more respect.”

Eyes wandering from corner to corner you waited for something to clear up that joke. They couldn't be serious. Are you seriously being scolded for doing your job?

“I have to apologize for her,” Phineas slid in. Coming around he made you get up by taking your arm.

Of course not without pinching you where it hurts.

“She's overzealous. You know how they are. The emancipated. Easily forget their manners.” He wore some disgustingly frank smile.

Allayed by his charming excuse, a scowl from her right at you ended the discussion. The overall atmosphere was indicating that the party was not on your side. Averting their eyes, you were being ignored by almost everyone.

Of course, he immediately took this opportunity to grab you by the wrist. Swirling you around he dragged you that close, that you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Listen, Freak,” he said calmly, like talking to a child, “Get your shit together or so God help me-” He bit his tongue.“You make us look ridiculous.” Then he put on a forced smile.

He let go of you, pushed you back. You nearly stumbled onto the glass behind you. Then he walked back to Benjamin and the others.

You got it. You weren't welcome.

Playing it down, you gave a slick smile before you ostentatiously took a step away from the place of action. With a look that asked for approval, you stared at Phineas. He rolled his eyes.

“Please Detective,” Mrs. Vela addressed Phineas, “don't be too hard on her.”

Phineas' eyes enlarged. That was something never ever anyone had said to him. You recognized how his jaw tightened. The question was if he felt caught or was pissed to receive orders.

He was about to open his mouth to respond when she turned to her friend.

“And you, Gwen,” Her neighbor listened up. “Please don't blame her for being nosy. She is just doing her job.”

Taken aback, she faced away.

What was going on here?

Lastly, she turned to you, brushing back a lock of her dark, wet hair. “Don't lose heart, Miss. I wish you to solve my husband's murder. I wouldn't want to live on this planet anymore- clueless who killed my beloved Fergus.”

Perplex you glimpsed around. The unnerved Phineas and the abashed Gwen. Both really impassive men. Gathered around the great red speck covering the floor.

“Uh-Thank you, Mrs. Vela... I appreciate it.”

“Oh don't mention it. You can call me Clara.”

She was so mature and of such remarkable beauty. Her lashes stuck together and her eyes were puffy. Mussed hair and pale as a ghost. But that smile made her seem like an angel. You actually never met anyone who put a stop to Phineas' hypocrisies.

You started to like her.

But a murderer is a murderer. Nothing will change that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :D


End file.
